In the Eyes of a Young Girl
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PreRENT] She saved him from himself, but he tainted his angel... A novel following Roger and April from the time they met to nine months before RENT begins. [Completed]
1. First Shot Roger

**A/N:** This story was actually my NaNo novel for 2005, so it's already done - that means you're guaranteed I'm actually going to _complete_ this, in all its 34-chapter glory. I'll be putting up the chapters as I edit them.  
**General Disclaimer:** Most of the characters aren't mine. On the other hand, some are. That is all.

* * *

**Chapter One: First Shot Roger  
**_Love Art Disease Pain Life— Jonathan Larson in 1993 notes for RENT_

Friday night, and Maureen was out, at a club or bar or God knew where. She'd been gone when April got home from work and, being Maureen, hadn't left a note. But that was nothing unusual, and April didn't worry about it too much. She'd curled up in one of the chairs in the living room with her notebook and a pen, and a mug of hot chocolate. Maureen would be home eventually.

Sure enough, at almost two in the morning the door banged open and April looked up sharply to see a giggling Maureen in the doorway, one arm around the waist of a guy April didn't recognize. Again, nothing unusual there, considering that Maureen tended to have a different guy every week, sometimes more often than that. April realized immediately that Maureen had been drinking; with a sigh, she turned to consider her roommate's newest conquest.

Tall, with pale bleached blond hair that looked like it had once been dirty blond, and blue eyes. A little rough around the edges, but in a sexy, rock star way, absolutely gorgeous and with a visible attitude of what could almost be classified as arrogance. And, as far as April could see, no more sober than Maureen. _Fallen angel on a weekend pass,_ April thought, and then blinked, wondering where that had come from. A line from a poem, a song, or just some random poetic line out of nowhere? She didn't pursue the question.

"Hi," she said simply, her eyes flickering from Maureen's friend to Maureen herself. "Nice to see you home so soon."

The mild sarcasm in her tone didn't seem to register with Maureen. She grinned and all but bounced into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind her. "Hey April! This is Roger, he'll be spending the night, okay, bye!" All of this was said in a rush, her words almost stringing together, as she hurried across the apartment from the front door to her bedroom door, Roger in tow. Before April could even respond, the bedroom door crashed closed behind her, and April was left staring at the door as she slowly sorted out what Maureen had said.

When at last she had made sense of it, to the extent that anything Maureen could make sense, April sighed and stood up, setting her notebook down on the chair as she went to lock the front door. She did _not_ need or want to know what Maureen was doing, and didn't want to sit out here in the front room just now. She had made that mistake before…

Quickly, she retreated to her room, pulled a random book off the bookshelf, and flopped down on her bed. Before she started to read, she turned on the radio beside her bed, and turned the volume up _loud_. It wasn't so much that she particularly wanted to hear the music, but it served to drown out any other noises that might be coming from the other bedroom. When you lived in an apartment with walls as thin as these… Well, April had learned long ago to take all necessary measures to preserve her own sanity and peace of mind.

* * *

April was the first one up the next morning. Then again, she had a shift at the diner that morning, and Maureen always slept until noon, so it was hardly surprising. She started a pot of coffee, and hunted through the refrigerator for something edible—anything, really. She settled on the few eggs still left in the carton, pulled out a frying pan and quickly set about making scrambled eggs, making sure to make enough to leave for Maureen, whenever she decided to get up. Even if she ended up having scrambled eggs for lunch, at least April could ensure that her roommate _did_ eat.

Maureen's bedroom door creaked open, and April looked up with a start, still standing over the stove, spatula in hand. Maureen's "friend" from last night stood in the doorway, looking a little tired and rumpled, but just as attractive as he had been when April first saw him the night before. Maybe more, dressed only in a black T-shirt and boxers… He blinked at her a little sleepily, and then gave her a fleeting, tired smile. "Hey."

She smiled back at him. "Good morning… Your name's Roger, right? I think that's what Maureen said before the two of you… um…" _Okay, let's not talk about that._ That was not a subject she felt comfortable discussing.

"Yeah. Roger Davis. Sorry we weren't properly introduced before…"

"April Cornwell." She hesitated, then gestured with one hand to the coffee pot. "D'you want some coffee or breakfast? I'm making eggs."

"I could use some coffee," he said with a bit of a grin.

She waved to the cabinets. "Help yourself. Coffee mugs are up there, in the cabinet above the coffee pot."

He walked past her to the cabinets, quickly retrieving a mug and pouring himself some coffee before he turned back to her, studying her quietly. April noticed, and flushed a little.

"So, where'd you meet Maureen?" April didn't know where the question came from. She usually made it a point of not getting to know the people Maureen brought home—after all, they were only around for so long—but this one she _wanted_ to get to know. He was… different, somehow.

"A club. I was playing there, and… we kind of bumped into each other afterwards."

April smiled to herself. Bumped into each other indeed. Maureen had probably seen him and decided immediately that she wanted him, and then made _certain_ that she found him afterwards, always forward and determined like that… But she kept that to herself. "You were playing? You're… a musician?"

There was that cocky grin, the one she'd caught a glimpse of last night. It was a smile that could make a girl melt if she wasn't careful, but April took it in stride. She could at least leave him alone until Maureen was through with him. That would take, what, a week?

"Yes," he said, still smirking confidently. "Lead guitarist and lead vocals in my band. The Well Hungarians."

April paused a moment, and then burst out laughing. She had to look away from Roger and his almost irritatingly self-satisfied smile until she had composed herself enough to speak without interrupting herself by laughing. "That… that's just…" She shook her head, unable to come up with any way to respond to that. Finally, she just gave up and asked as she switched off the stove, "Do you want some breakfast?"

Roger shook his head a little. "No thanks." When she raised her eyebrows at him, he added, "I mean, I'm sure it's wonderful, I just… don't eat breakfast."

"Alright then," April said, and reached up into the cabinet above the stove, pulled down a bag of pita bread and stuffed a pita with some of the eggs she had just made. She frowned a little as she put the rest of the pitas back in the bread cabinet, realizing that they were running low on… pretty much everything edible. She'd have to go grocery shopping soon if she could manage it, because Maureen certainly wouldn't remember to. Quickly, April put the rest of the eggs in a container for Maureen, picked up her pita and started for the door.

"I have to go to work. If you're still around when Maureen wakes up, could you tell her I said to eat?"

Roger nodded slowly. "Sure. What time d'you think she'll be up?"

April paused in the doorway and turned around to smile at him. "Noon. Probably even after that. That's why I said 'if you're still around.'" She laughed softly and turned away again, closing the door behind her.

Once she had gone, Roger still watched the doorway thoughtfully. She had a beautiful smile.


	2. In the City of Neon and Chrome

**Chapter Two: In the City of Neon and Chrome  
**_"It's the age of daring. It's the only time we have. We must live in the present. We are young and alive." – _Wicked_, Gregory Maguire_

"April, are you ready?" Maureen asked from the living room. When April didn't answer, Maureen walked to the bedroom door of April's room, leaned in, and frowned. "Why aren't you ready? You're _coming_, aren't you?"

April had sprawled out on her bed, reading a book, and now looked up calmly at her roommate. Maureen wore her favorite black dress that clung to her figure, and heels. April was still in jeans and a random T-shirt she had thrown on that morning. "Coming to… what, exactly?" She had the feeling she missed something somewhere along the way.

Maureen rolled her eyes in frustration, walked to the bed and grabbed April by the arm, half-dragging her upright. "I told you this before. Weren't you listening?"

April sighed and allowed Maureen to pull her off the bed. "_Before_, I was a little busy trying to fix the microwave, which still doesn't work, by the way. Would you mind filling me in?"

Maureen gently shoved April towards her closet. "Get dressed, or do I have to help you with that too? Roger's playing somewhere tonight and he wanted me to come and meet his friends…"

Searching through her closet, April paused and glanced at Maureen over her shoulder. "You're still with Roger?"

Maureen glared at her, obviously not amused. "Yes, I am," she said in a long-suffering tone. "It's only been four days, April."

Rather than argue, April simply shrugged. "With you, you never know… And Maureen, I honestly don't particularly _want_ to go out tonight. Can't you just go without me?"

"_No_, I can't," Maureen replied as if scandalized. "Come on, April, I'll be all alone when Roger's playing if you're not there and—"

"That never bothered you before," April pointed out.

"That's not the point!" Maureen walked over to April and put her arms around her friend's neck, resting her chin on her shoulder. "_Please_, 'Ril?"

April sighed and lifted her hands, palms out, almost as a gesture of surrender. "Fine, fine, you win, I'll go. I hope you're happy."

Maureen squeaked happily and hugged her roommate tightly without really moving her arms from around April's neck. "Thank you!"

"Maureen?" April asked as she gently pried Maureen's arms from around her neck. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Her friend frowned at her a moment, and after a few seconds realized what she meant. "Oh! Sorry!" She released her and bounced back, heading out the door of April's bedroom. "Now quick, get dressed and let's go! Maybe if you're lucky one of Roger's friends will be really cute."

She was out the door before April could respond, so April simply shook her head and pulled a dress out of her closet, wondering silently why she let Maureen talk her into things like this.

* * *

"He's good," April commented quietly, her eyes fixed on Roger on the stage. "He's very good."

"He really is," Mark said from beside April. As she turned to look at him, he grinned and added, "Just don't tell him that. He gets unbearably smug."

"I'll remember that," April said with a laugh. Of all of Roger's friends, April had hit it off best with Mark, perhaps because neither of them felt entirely comfortable in this environment. Maureen, Tom and Benny were another matter, but Mark and April sat together at a table for most of the night, listening to the music and talking.

"Please do." Mark rolled his eyes a little. "Roger's my best friend, but he can get _annoying_ when his ego gets the better of him. And I can never smack him for it, because he's bigger than I am." April tried not to laugh at that statement, but she couldn't help it—the scrawny filmmaker had a point. Luckily, Mark was good-natured enough to take it in stride, and he broke into a smile when April finally gave in to laughter.

"You poor thing," she said with mock sympathy, her grin softening the teasing. She _liked_ Mark; he was a genuinely nice person, easy to talk to… She'd meant to say more, but just then Maureen appeared at her elbow and held out her hand.

"Come dance with me, 'Ril," she said, tilting her head to one side as she looked down at her friend. As she smiled up at Maureen, April thought that next to Maureen surely no one would ever notice _her_. April was cute, maybe pretty, but it was Maureen who possessed the sheer beauty. Just once glance at the way Mark—and every other straight male in the club—watched Maureen confirmed that.

"Mark, you don't mind if I go, do you? I'd hate to leave you alone."

"Huh?" Mark asked, snapping out of his Maureen-induced trance, and quickly fumbled, "Oh, no, go right ahead. I'll be fine, promise."

April nodded and took Maureen's hand, allowing her friend to pull her to her feet. "Alright, Maur, let's dance."

Maureen positively beamed and led April out, away from the tables, just as Roger's band started up a new song. April looked up at the stage, her eyes automatically searching out Roger among the other members of the band, and found that Roger's eyes lingered on her and Maureen. She didn't doubt that he'd been watching Maureen the entire time, and found herself half-hoping he wasn't _too_ interested in Maur. Odd as it seemed that the rock star might be vulnerable, he could get hurt when Maureen got tired of him.

"You've got an admirer," April pointed out to Maureen, nodding to the stage. Maureen glanced up at him and flashed a bright smile, along with a quick wave.

"Well of course I do," Maureen said with a somewhat toned down version of Roger's all-too-confident smirk. "Everyone admires me, baby. Now come on, let's have some fun. You should talk to Benny. He's nice… You two would make a cute couple."

"What?" April demanded, somewhere between laughter and exasperation. When Maureen took it into her head to fix her up with someone, it was sometimes difficult to talk her out of it. "_Maureen_!"

Pretending innocence, her friend asked, "What? Oh, _fine_, I won't set you up. You ruin all my fun."

April laughed and raised one eyebrow, giving Maureen a frank look. "Sweetheart, your definition of fun is very twisted."

"I know," Maureen said sweetly, "but you love me anyway."


	3. Barns and Troughs and Performance Spaces

**Chapter Three: Barns and Troughs and Performance Spaces  
**_"Cross a man and you struggle, one of you wins, you adjust and go on—or you lie there dead. Cross a woman and the universe is changed, once again…"—_Wicked_, Gregory Maguire_

The first day Maureen came over to the loft, she'd noticed the empty lot across the street. Roger could not for the life of him understand what about it excited her so much.

"It's a lot. An empty lot."

"It is _not_," Maureen retorted, staring thoughtfully out the large windows of the loft. "It's a performance space." Her tone clearly indicated that this was something special, that there was a vast difference between an empty lot and a "performance space", but whatever it was, Roger couldn't grasp it. "If we just set up a stage and brought in some equipment…"

Roger gave her a suspicious look from his position sprawled on the couch. "What kind of equipment?"

She turned away from the window and waved one hand in the air in a vague gesture Roger didn't quite know how to interpret. "I don't know, a sound system, lights… Oh, it'll be wonderful! I don't suppose you know how to set up that sort of equipment, Roger-baby?"

The pet name made him wince a little; he ignored the mocking grin he could see Benny giving him out of the corner of his eye. "No, I don't. Sorry." Actually, he wasn't so much sorry as hoping that would discourage her, and it showed. From what he'd seen of Maureen's whims, she should give over the idea if it proved too difficult to manage.

From across the room, Benny mentioned off-handedly, "You know, Mark's good with that sort of technical stuff…"

Mark looked up upon hearing his name. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, I could help… that is… if you…" He trailed off as he noticed Roger's death glare that plainly said, _You are not helping the situation._

But Maureen had already seized on the idea, and flashed a dazzling smile in Mark's direction. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Mark, you're the best!" Roger noted with some annoyance that Mark's pale cheeks flushed a little at that, but he didn't have long to worry about it. Maureen bounded away from the windows to the couch and sat down, practically on top of Roger. "And you can help too," she said brightly, getting more enthusiastic by the minute. Roger wondered where she got the impression that he even wanted to help.

"Help how?" he asked, beginning to become a little concerned as to what she was dragging him into.

"You could do the music and… oh! I know just what to do! I'll tell you what I need for later, just please promise you'll help…"

"You want me to agree to help when you haven't even told me what you expect me to do?" Roger asked incredulously.

"Well… yes. Come on, please say you will…" When Roger hesitated, she pouted at him and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss. "_Please_?"

He sighed, resigning himself to Maureen's manipulation. He met her eyes reluctantly and finally asked, "You're not going to give up, are you?"

Maureen considered for a moment, then smiled a little and shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Fine, fine. You win, I'll help you." He mostly said it to make her stop pouting at him, but the grateful smile she gave him made him happy that he had, despite his annoyance and the far too amused looks from Mark and Benny.

"Thank you!" Maureen squeaked and threw her arms around his neck, giving him another enthusiastic kiss. Roger closed his eyes and leaned in to her, not breaking the kiss until Mark picked one of the stray pillows that had fallen off the couch and threw it at Roger's head. Roger jerked back with a start.

"What was tha—"

Mark cut him off with a grin. "Get a room."

* * *

_She is going to kill me,_ Roger thought as he picked up the phone. _She will murder me._ But then again, he was _not_ going to be intimidated by Maureen, and he _would_ have to tell her… Maybe she'd give him some credit for that? He doubted it. She would murder him alright. He braced himself and dialed her number anyway. 

In the past week, Maureen had spent most of her time planning this performance of hers and dragging everyone she could into it, though she had managed to keep the details secret from almost everyone—even Roger. Mark had helped her set up a stage of sorts, a sound system, lights, and the performance had been scheduled for tonight. And now Roger had to tell Maureen that he was going to bail out.

Someone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"April! Um… hi, its Roger. Is—is Maureen there?"

"Yeah… hang on, I'll go get her." A rustling sound followed as she set the phone down, a long silence with some almost inaudible sounds of conversation in the background, and then…

"Hey, Roger-baby!" Chipper as always… Roger was almost too reluctant to bring up _why_ he was calling. Almost.

"Hi Maureen," he said, decidedly less cheerful than her. "Listen—"

"Are you ready for the performance tonight? You've practiced the music and everything?"

Well, if she had to get to it right off the bat… "About that, Maur… I can't go."

Dead silence. Not a good sign. And then, after half a minute or so, "_What_?"

And here came the difficult part. "The band got a gig tonight, and it's scheduled at the same time as your thing. I'm sorry, but they _do_ need me."

Coldly, Maureen said, "You agreed to help a _week_ ago, Roger. Remember? And when did you find out about this?"

Roger sighed quietly, seeing clearly where this was going. "This afternoon."

"Damn it, Roger, you—You know what? Just… stay right where you are, okay? Don't go _anywhere_." There was an odd thumping, clattering sound as if she'd dropped the phone, and he thought he heard a door slam somewhere on the other end of the line. After a second or two, he heard April's voice. "What did you _say_ to her?"

"Tell you later. What happened?"

"She dropped the phone, grabbed her coat and walked out the door. I would assume she's going to your place."

"Crap." Without another word, Roger hung up the phone.

As he had expected, Maureen marched into the loft not long after. "What the fuck, Roger?"

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "Well hello, Maureen, I love you too," he said sarcastically.

She stalked across the room towards him, and Roger got to his feet slowly. "You _really_ think you can just _leave_ after this has been planned for a _week_, just because this afternoon you—"

"Maureen. The band has a gig." He spoke calmly in the face of her obvious fury, as if stating the mere facts would make her back down. Later, looking back on that, he would wonder what the hell he had been thinking, but for now he didn't notice the idiocy of it.

"So tell _them_ you can't go!"

"Maureen," Roger said, struggling to remain composed. "I can't. This is important. This is my _career_."

"And this is mine!" Maureen snapped. For several seconds the two of them stood there, silent, glaring eye-to-eye, Maureen's brown and Roger's blue, each daring the other to back down first.

At last, Roger growled, "The difference there, Maureen, is that people actually_ want_ to see me perform." The instant he said it, he knew he'd crossed a line, but he was too annoyed to apologize, and she probably too angry to accept it if he had. She stared at him for a second, wordless, and then took a half step back, looking down at her feet. For a moment, Roger thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. It would be the first time he'd ever seen her even close to crying.

"You selfish _bastard_." She only whispered it, her voice shaking a little, but it was loud enough for Roger to hear in the empty loft, as utterly silent as it was. "All I ask you is one thing, and you can't even do _that_, and then you just…"

She drew a slow breath and spun around quickly, stalking towards the door. Roger wondered for a second if he should stop her, but too late—the door slammed loudly behind her on her way out, the loft echoing with the sound. He watched the door for a moment, then shook his head and turned away. Immediately, he noticed Mark standing in the doorway of their bedroom, just watching him.

Roger glared at him, irritated by the accusing look Mark gave him. "How long have you been there?" He hadn't even known there was anyone else home, or he probably would have been more careful about what he said. No, scratch that, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. But he certainly would have been able to preempt _this_.

"Long enough," Mark said simply. "You shouldn't have said that to her. She's really excited about this, you know. And she really wanted you to help."

Not in the mood to hear a lecture, Roger shook his head and walked towards the bedroom to grab his guitar and a change of clothes for the club tonight, shouldering roughly past Mark as he passed him in the doorway. "And you shouldn't have been listening to us."

"I could hardly help it," Mark muttered. "I was taking a nap and you woke me up. Both of you."

Well, that would explain why Roger hadn't known he was home, and now that Roger glanced at him again, he realized that Mark _did_ look like he'd been asleep, his clothes rumpled and hair sticking up oddly, so it wasn't a lie. Sometimes Roger doubted Mark _could_ lie… He shook his head and searched through the closet for a clean shirt to wear. "Fine. I still don't want your advice." _Or need it._ "You sound like your mother."

Mark winced. "I'm not trying to tell you… I mean… Look, just… You should apologize to her, okay? That's all I'm saying."

Roger didn't even look at him, and didn't answer. The advice itself was annoying. Even more irritating was the fact that he knew Mark was right.


	4. Though We May Have Our Disputes

**Chapter Four: Though We May Have Our Disputes  
**_You can't help how you feel… but you can help how you behave. –_The Handmaid's Tale_, Margaret Atwood_

April really hadn't understood a word of what she overheard of Maureen and Roger's phone call, nor quite why Maureen had rushed out so suddenly, but she decided not to worry about it. It was probably only Maureen in a temper, and whatever the problem it would come out eventually. April knew Maureen too well to think anything else.

She had been about to leave the apartment to meet Maureen at the lot when her roommate stalked in, throwing open the door so hard it banged against the opposite wall. April winced and flinched, tempted to tell Maureen not to do that or she'd put a hole in the wall, but stopped when she saw Maureen's face. She was crying.

Maureen rushed past April to her own bedroom and didn't say so much as a word. That worried April almost more than the tears. She hurried after Maureen and grasped her arm gently before she got to the bedroom door. "Maureen, what happened? I was just going to go to the lot to—"

"Don't bother," Maureen snapped. "I'm not going. I'm canceling the performance."

"What? _Why_?" April stared at Maureen in disbelief. "But you spent all week getting ready for this, and you were so excited…"

"I know," Maureen said irritably. "But Roger…" Her expression darkened, and she tried to pull her arm away from April. "Never mind."

April took her gently by the shoulders and steered her towards the couch, forcing her to sit down before she sat beside her. She gave Maureen a flat look, but Maureen wouldn't meet her eyes, and finally April just ordered bluntly, "Tell me." Maureen sighed, and still avoided looking directly at April.

"Roger said he's not going. Because his band is doing something tonight and I guess they're more important to him than me…" She sniffed a little, her eyes unfocused, and April frowned. With Maureen it was hard to tell if her emotions were ever real or simply a show. Just in case she was sincere, April decided it was safest not to point out that there was invariably something more important to Maureen than her current boyfriend, and that the fact that for once she didn't have him wrapped around her finger wasn't the end of the world.

"And you absolutely can't do the performance without him? After Mark and everyone helped you out…" She had the feeling that this might be one of Maureen's overreactions, blowing things entirely out of proportion, but April never could tell entirely.

"No!" Maureen snapped. She pulled away from April and got off the couch. "I mean… I just don't want to, okay? I'll be in my room."

For a second, April watched Maureen walk off, and decided that there really must be something wrong, for real this time. "Maur? What did he say?"

Maureen stopped and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it. He… he's a bastard, that's all." She disappeared into her room and closed the door behind her. April sighed, making a mental note to interrogate Roger about it later. As irritating as Maureen could be, and as much as she might have had it coming, April wasn't about to let anyone get away with upsetting her best friend without explaining himself.

* * *

Roger scowled at his guitar as he tuned it, focusing entirely on his own dark thoughts. His band members had been avoiding him all night, and for good reason—they had learned how to recognize when he was in a bad mood, if not the reason why. None of them had said more than a few words to him, and in most cases he'd snapped at them in response. All in all, it was not a good night.

And as if his mood wasn't bad enough, none of the others had come to watch him. Usually when he performed, he had at least one of his friends in the audience, but… He hadn't asked Mark, because he hadn't wanted to deal with that accusing _look_ all night. Collin hadn't even gotten home before Roger left, and the conversation with Benny had not gone well. Mark must have told him what happened before Roger even noticed he was home.

"Dude," Benny had said, giving him a look somewhere between incredulous and disapproving. "You actually _said _that to her? What the hell were you _thinking_? Hell no, I'm not going to go with you, you idiot!" Roger, of course, had responded in kind and things had gone downhill from there. Which left him here, alone unless he counted his band, getting ready to go on stage in one of his worst moods.

"Well, fuck Benny," he muttered under his breath as he struck a chord and frowned. Damn guitar was always difficult to tune. "And Mark. I'm right… and why're they taking her side anyway? They're _my_ friends, damn it!" His attempts to justify himself rang false even to his own ears.

* * *

April didn't have a shift at the diner the next morning, so she took the rare opportunity to sleep in. Consequently, she was still in bed when someone knocked on the front door. She only half-registered it at first, and just rolled over, mostly ignoring the irritating noise and starting to drift back to sleep—not that it even _really_ woke her up in the first place. But then the knock came again, louder now, and she jumped, coming perilously close to falling out of bed.

"Maureen?" a voice called through the front door. There was a long pause. "April? Are you home?"

April sighed as realization slowly dawned. Roger. Just beautiful. She glanced at the clock as she rolled out of bed: a little after 10:00 AM. So much for sleeping in until noon. Well, close enough, and longer than she usually got. Walking to the front door, still in her nightgown, April caught sight of herself in a mirror. Her short red hair was frizzy, messy as always in the morning; no way of disguising that she had just crawled out of bed. Whatever. Why bother? It was only Roger, after all.

She unlocked the front door and yanked it open. "What is it?"

He seemed startled, and it took a moment for him to answer. "I wanted to… Is Maureen here?"

"Yes."

"Can I talk to her, then?"

"She's asleep." But at ten in the morning, that should go without saying when it came to Maureen. Clearly that was a fact Roger had not quite picked up on yet. April stepped back form the door and beckoned him in. "But I want to talk to you first. Come in."

"Okay…" Roger said hesitantly.

April could see where he might be a little confused. Other than that first morning in the kitchen when they'd really met, she'd scarcely talked to Roger. Hell, she had spoken to _Mark_ more often since then. But this was important. She closed the door behind him and pointed to the couch. "Sit."

Somewhat to her surprise, he listened, watching her wordlessly with those intense blue eyes. She sat on the coffee table, directly in front of him so he couldn't avoid looking at her, rested her elbows on her knees, leaned forward and folded her hands in front of her.

"Listen, Maureen's one of my best friends, as demanding and insane and _incredibly_ bitchy as she can be sometimes. You made her cry last night, and I want to know what you did or said and why, and don't you dare lie to me." Her own directness kind of startled her—she hadn't meant for it to come out sounding quite that strong. But she didn't let her surprise show outwardly, just continued watching him, waiting for an answer. She reflected how odd this picture must look from the outside, the frizzy-haired girl sitting on the coffee table, still in her nightgown, staring down the rock star. _Oh yes, April,_ she thought wryly. _Very intimidating._

He remained silent for a long time, but he couldn't avoid looking at her, and her eyes, not exactly accusing, just watching, waiting, and far too perceptive. At last, he sighed and told her, "One of my band members got us a gig, and I had to go. I would've told Maureen earlier, but I didn't know until—"

"If it were just that you went to play at a club instead of help her performance," April interrupted, "she would have come home screaming and throwing things, not crying. There's something else."

Roger's eyes flickered away, to the side, as if he were searching for some way to escape April and her questions. He found nothing, and in a moment looked back to her reluctantly. "You… are very persistent."

"I know," she said with a sardonic smile, and quirked one eyebrow at him. He was _going_ to tell her, or she would drag it out of him.

Somehow, just that look from her seemed enough to do the trick. "I told her," he said with a sigh, "that the difference between my performance and hers was that people actually cared about mine. Happy?"

April sat back. "Not entirely, no, but that explains it." She considered for a minute. "Can I tell you something?"

"Aren't you going to anyway?"

She ignored him. "Maureen _cares_ about her performances. They matter to her, like almost nothing else does. Don't take that away from her, alright?" She paused, and then grinned and added, "Or else I'll have to hurt you."

Roger smiled at the last part, and nodded. "Point taken."

"Good." April gestured to Maureen's bedroom door with one hand. "You can go talk to her now, if you want. Make sure you apologize."

Roger didn't answer, just got to his feet and started for the bedroom. April watched him a minute, then stood up quickly. "Wait!"

He stopped. "What?"

"On second thought," she said, walking past him and placing one hand on the knob of Maureen's door, "I should probably wake her up."

"Okay… Why?"

"Because if you wake her up on top of everything else you've already done, she'll kill you." She heard Roger laugh as she opened the door, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, a faint smile on her lips. "You think I'm kidding."


	5. Live in my House, I'll be Your Shelter

**Chapter Five: Live in my House, I'll Be Your Shelter  
**_The era, in retrospect, was very kind to dumb ideas.—_No Plot? No Problem!_, Chris Baty_

"Should he be sitting on the table like that?" April asked Mark quietly, frowning at Roger. The two of them sat on the windowsill in the loft, each with a notebook—April attempting to write something, anything, and Mark apparently working on a screenplay. Maureen lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling and thinking God knew what, while Roger sat on the table, cross-legged, playing with melodies on his guitar. She watched him a moment longer, and then added quietly to Mark, "It doesn't look very stable."

Mark glanced up. "Huh?" He followed her gaze to Roger, and caught on. "Oh, no, it's fine. He does that all the time, and it's never collapsed before. Although," he said, just barely concealing an amused smile, "I kind of wish it would, just once, so I could laugh at him."

For a second, Roger stopped playing and shot him a glare. "I heard that." Mark didn't answer, just affected a look of complete innocence—it suited him well. April tried to remain straight-faced, but couldn't help herself. She burst into giggles and ducked her head, focusing intently on her notebook so that she could pretend not to notice Roger glaring at her as well.

Maureen watched them all from the couch with an expression of utter bemusement. "You're all insane," she announced after a few seconds. "And I'm bored."

Still grinning, April looked up at her roommate. "Sweetheart, that's because you have all day to do absolutely nothing. You need to find something to do."

"There's nothing _to_ do," Maureen protested.

April smirked at her. "You could get a _job_, you know. There's an opening at the diner as a waitress…"

Maureen just gave her a blank look, and somehow April had the feeling that her suggestion hadn't gone over well. "Why would I want to do that?"

Well, of course she would react that way, April thought. She wasn't the one who paid the bills. April let out an exasperated sigh. "Maureen."

"_What_?"

April watched her for a second. Was she serious, or just trying to frustrate her? She wouldn't put it past Maureen. "Because if you _don't_ get a job soon, then before long we're going to have to start choosing between buying food and paying the rent."

"Oh." Maureen sat up and crossed one leg over the other, bouncing one foot gently. "But… 'Ril, if I get a job I won't be able to work on my performances!"

April rolled her eyes. "As if you do that anyway. You haven't had a performance in half a year."

Glancing at Roger, Maureen muttered, "Only thanks to _someone_…" She and Roger had made up several days ago, but Maureen could hold a grudge like no one else, and April well knew that complete forgiveness from her could be slow in coming.

Roger ignored the slight, barely even batting an eye. He did watch Maureen for a moment, and at last said slowly, "You know… if the two of you are having trouble paying your rent, then—"

"Don't," April said quickly, before he could offer. "I don't want you to—"

He ignored her protests and kept on talking. "—you could move into the loft."

April stared at him. Even Maureen had apparently been struck speechless for the moment. At last, April recovered her wits enough to ask, "_What_?"

Roger shrugged. "If it would make things easier for you, I don't see why not."

Wondering if Roger had simply lost his mind temporarily, April glanced at Mark, who gave her a bit of a smile in response. "It wouldn't be that big of a problem. I mean, we'd have to rearrange some things, maybe, but it could work…" He paused a moment, seeing the utterly baffled look on April's face, and smiled. "This sort of thing is kind of normal with us. We all kind of came into the loft sort of randomly. The two of you moving in wouldn't be any different, really."

April sighed. Maybe they should… It would certainly be easier, but… _Awkward when Maureen and Roger break up. And they will… Maureen always does._ She sighed and glanced at Maureen. "You and I need to talk. Later. And…" Her gaze swept back to Mark and Roger. "I'm not agreeing to anything until I ask Benny and Collins if it's okay with them."

Roger shrugged again and turned back to his guitar. "They won't mind. Well, Benny might argue just to be annoying, but—"

"No, Roger," Mark said pointedly, "that's _you_ who argues with people just to be annoying." He turned back to April and assured her, "They won't mind. I promise."

* * *

April had doubted Mark and Roger when they told her the others wouldn't mind if she and Maureen moved into the loft, but in actuality, when she asked them Collins and Benny agreed to the idea, and Collins even offered to help them bring their things in. And since Maureen apparently had no intentions of getting a job and helping to pay the rent… A couple days later found the girls transferring their possessions into the loft.

"I miss my bed," Maureen sighed, frowning as April carried yet another box full of books through the door of the loft. While everyone else actually went to the effort of moving things, Maureen simply sat perched on the back of the couch, observing the entire process like a queen on her throne. April sighed and set the box down in a corner, near where they had put her bookshelf. She'd have to unpack all of that later… for now, she turned her attention back to Maureen.

"Well, there was nowhere to put your bed, Maur. We're improvising. Look on the bright side—we got to sell it, so now we have some extra money."

Maureen stuck her tongue out. "I still miss my bed," she said stubbornly.

April rolled her eyes and started out the door again to go get another box. "My roommate is a five-year-old, apparently," she muttered under her breath. Mark heard as he passed by, and grinned.

"So is Roger most of the time. They can keep each other occupied."

"Shut up, Mark!" Roger called as he walked up the stairs, carrying a box full of Maureen's clothes. Those outnumbered the boxes full of April's books by far.

"He always knows when I'm talking about him," Mark said, perplexed. "It's not fair."

From the living room, Benny asked, "So… where are the girls sleeping, exactly? We've only got two bedrooms, and I think those are pretty much occupied…"

Roger dropped the box he carried about two steps into the loft, and gently kicked it to one side with his foot. "Out here," he said, gesturing around the room with one hand.

"Here?" Benny raised his eyebrows. "On the couch or something?"

"Collins said he'd take care of it," Mark said. "Speaking of… where _is_ he?"

"Right here," Collins called from the stairwell, his deep voice clearly audible. Mark jumped, startled, and glanced to April.

"How do they…" he began.

Collins grinned as he reached the top of the stairs. "Mark, your voice echoes down the stairs when you stand there."

"Oh," Mark said softly.

April glanced past Mark and saw that Collins was carrying what looked like a futon cushion. He caught her eye as he passed by her and Mark, into the loft. "There's a frame for this too—I'll bring it up. You and Maureen should both fit on this, right?"

April bit her lower lip. "Tom, you didn't have to buy that for us. I could have—"

Benny's laugh cut her off. "I guarantee you, he didn't buy it."

"What?"

Her alarm made Benny chuckle a little. "I'll bet you anything Tom stole that. God only knows how he manages it."

"You _stole_ it?" April demanded, whirling on Collins. He seemed unperturbed.

"Liberated, April Shower," Collins said with that charmingly open smile of his. "The word is liberated."

"April Shower?" she asked.

Mark shrugged. "It's a pretty nickname."

April stood there for a moment or two, then shook her head with a smile as she stepped out of the loft. "Liberated," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

Late that night, April sat on her and Maureen's new, "liberated" futon… with Mark.

"I don't think you're getting your room back tonight," she commented.

"No, I don't either."

"Maureen's not going to come out any time soon, is she?"

"Nope."

April's eyes shifted from the bedroom door to Mark. Roger and Maureen had gone into Roger's bedroom hours ago, and no one thought it prudent to bother them even now. The problem was, Mark shared that room with Roger, and that now left him without a bed.

"So. You want to spend the night out here?"

"I don't think I have a choice. I can sleep on the couch…"

"No, you can stay here. It's more comfortable. Just as long as you can keep your hands to yourself."

"I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Hey! What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I didn't mean… I just… You're very pretty, April, really, it's just that you're like… my sister. Well, not _my_ sister. My sister's bossier than you are. _A_ sister… I should shut up now, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, I think so."


	6. It's Over

**Chapter Six: It's Over  
**_She is gonna… okay, maybe she won't kill me. That's nice.—_Hero's Quest_, Lee (w/Tyrone)_

Mark still hadn't been able to spend a night in his room, despite the fact that April and Maureen had moved in a week ago. Mark and everyone else (well, everyone else except for Maureen and Roger) had begun to worry that this might become a permanent arrangement, with Mark sharing the futon in the front room, and Maureen and Roger having taken over what used to be _Mark_ and Roger's room. But that setup fell apart in a matter of days, when at 7:14 in the morning the inhabitants of the loft woke to raised voices from Roger's room.

April sat bolt upright as she heard a loud, oddly hollow thumping noise and Roger's exasperated shout of, "_Maureen_!"

She sat there for a few seconds, silent, then sighed. "Oh… damn."

Mark blinked, bleary-eyed and with his hair sticking up at odd angles, and started hunting for his glasses. "What happened?" he mumbled. "What's going on?"

April located Mark's glasses for him and handed them to him. "I'm not sure, but I have an idea. It's not good."

The door crashed open so hard that it slammed against the wall, bounced back and almost hit Maureen in the face as she stalked out of the room. She shoved it roughly aside once more, and hadn't made it more than a few steps out the doorway before Roger followed her, all but shouting, "The world does _not_ revolve around you, Maureen!"

She spun on her heel to face him. "No, it doesn't. In _your_ mind, it revolves around you and your God _AWFUL_ band! If for _one _second you would think about anyone but yourself and actually—"

"Are you _kidding_ me? You can't be serious! You, of all people, you actually—"

Mark and April exchanged a quick look and got to their feet, about the same time that Collins and Benny emerged from their own bedroom. "What the hell…?" Benny asked, still half-asleep. And amid the confusion, Roger and Maureen were still shouting.

Maureen strode halfway across the loft, with Roger following close behind—and Maureen half-screaming at him the entire time. "—such a goddamn _bastard_, and you don't give a _damn_ about anyone but you unless it's because—"

Roger started shouting back at her just then, and Maureen didn't fall silent, so neither one of them could be understood at all. April hurried towards her friend and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her away from Roger before she could hit him; it almost looked as if she might. Frantically, with her free hand, she gestured for one of the boys to do the same with Roger, and almost immediately Collins stepped forward and interposed himself between Roger and the girls. Probably best—Benny didn't have any sort of control over Roger, and while Mark might have been able to talk to him, he wasn't big enough to restrain him if necessary.

April pushed Maureen back a few steps and made her sit down on the futon. Maureen opened her mouth to protest, but April held up one finger and glared at her, and somehow that kept her silent. April turned to face Roger and Collins. "What the _hell_ is going on? What did she do? Or what did you do?"

"She's… she's a bitch!"

"So are you!" Maureen screamed back, standing up to glare at him over April's head.

April shoved her back down and glared at her until she shut up. "It took you that long to figure that out?" she asked Roger sarcastically, then shook her head. "And that's not a reason to wake up everyone this early. What _happened_?"

"She… she kicked my guitar?"

Mark blinked. "She did _what_?"

"She _kicked _it!"

April tilted her head to one side, considering. "Well, that explains what that noise was…"

Collins rolled his eyes. "She didn't break it, did she?"

"Well, no…"

He nodded. "Then Roger? Stop trying to kill her for it."

April sighed. "She didn't just decide to kick your guitar for some reason. What'd you do?"

"I just—" He didn't get more than two words in when Maureen stood up and started arguing at the top of her lungs, and immediately Collins and April leapt to quiet them down. Roger fell silent before Maureen, and her last two words rang out clearly.

"—it's over!"

For a moment, no one moved, spoke… April could have sworn that no one _breathed_ until Roger simply shrugged, still glowering at Maureen. "Fine by me," he said at last, and jerked roughly away from Collins, walking back to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

There was another long, awkward silence as no one really dared to meet each other's eyes, but finally Maureen stood up and forced a bit of a smile, though it didn't entirely succeed in convincing anyone. "Well," she said with false brightness, "now that everyone's up… April, could you make us some breakfast? I'm hungry."

April sighed. Well, at least this was better than Maureen screaming at her or Roger at the top of her lungs… "Sure."

* * *

April sighed as she walked back up the stairs to the loft. She'd forgotten to grab her notebook on the way out the door, and of course had to run back to get it. Now she was bound to be late to work for this. "Just brilliant," she muttered under her breath.

She reached the door of the loft and started to open the door, but had only just cracked it open when she heard voices. The boys. She would have gone in, but something made her stop and just stand there, with the door only a tiny bit cracked open, enough that she could hear… not enough that they would notice her.

"Roger, she really hasn't done anything." Mark's voice.

Then Benny, somewhat sarcastic and amused. "Unless you count breaking up with you a crime. Which I don't blame her for, by the way. I don't know how she put up with you for that long."

Collins, reproving. "Benny." Then, apparently to Roger—because it was in that "you're being an idiot" tone April had only ever heard him use with Roger—he said, "If you want to make her leave, you're going to have to come up with a more substantial reason than 'she's a bitch.'"

April froze. Oh God. Roger wanted Maureen to leave? But… Shit. Well, she should have seen this coming. The two of them had been unbearable in the few days since the fight, any time they were near each other. She shifted the door open a little more to peer inside and watch the boys as they talked.

"I… I can't live with her," Roger said with a sigh. "I just can't."

"Well where's she going to go, Roger?" Mark asked. "She's got nowhere else."

"I don't _know_! She can find somewhere."

Benny rolled his eyes. "You know, you're the only one here who doesn't get along with her. Maybe _you_ should leave."

"Besides which," Collins pointed out, after a sharp look at Benny, "it's not fair to April."

April could see that Roger was taken aback by that. "What _about_ April?"

Benny sighed. "Gee, I don't know, how about she's Maureen's best friend, they moved in together… Do you need any more reasons?"

"Well I don't want _her_ to leave. Just Maureen."

Mark sighed. "And _you_ invited her to move in, in case you've forgotten. We're not going to…" He trailed off, looking at Collins. "What?"

Collins' eyes were on the doorway. "Hi April," he said simply. The other three turned toward the door.

April jumped back, and fought to regain her composure quickly, stepping inside the loft and strolling to the table, ignoring the flush that crept up her cheeks. "I was just getting… I forgot my… um…" She grabbed her notebook off the table. "I'll just… go now." She rushed out before any of them could so much as say hello—or ask her how long she had been listening.


	7. The Power Blows

**Chapter Seven: The Power Blows  
**_Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. – Anais Nin

* * *

_

April sat cross-legged on the broad window sill, not, as usual, with a notebook in hand, but rather simply staring out the window, watching the patterns the rain made as it trickled down the glass panes. She followed one drop with her finger, thoughtfully watching it slide down in a winding path, merge with other drops, speed out of sight.

_April showers. Except… not._

Late September, actually, but it didn't matter. Eighteen days since she and Maureen had moved in, eleven days since her twentieth birthday, which had come and gone uneventfully—Maureen had apparently forgotten, the boys didn't know, and April hadn't felt like telling them. September or not, the phrase _April showers_ stuck in her mind for some reason. Since Collins had first said it, Mark and Benny had picked up on the nickname too. With Maureen calling her 'Ril most of the time, Roger was the only one who ever really called her just April. It didn't bother her.

She pressed her forehead gently against the cool window, watched as her breath fogged the pane. She chuckled softly to herself as a children's song popped into her mind suddenly. "_It's raining, it's pouring…_"

Thunder crashed somewhere, loudly, though April couldn't see the flash of lightning. The lights flickered, and the power died suddenly, sending the entire loft into complete darkness.

"Damn," one of the boys said softly—April couldn't tell which.

Mark sighed. "Roger, could you go find the candles?"

"Why _me_?" Despite his protest, April could hear him moving, then shuffling through drawers, presumably searching for candles and matches.

From somewhere near the couch, Maureen answered pertly, "Because we're kind of hoping you'll trip in the dark and break your neck."

"Shut up, Johnson. I'm not going to—" A crash, a yelp. "Ow!"

Benny's sigh, and a muttered, "It figures." April giggled, quickly smothering it before Roger could identify the source.

"Where'd you hurt yourself?" she asked, trying to sound helpful.

For a few seconds, he didn't answer, and then said resentfully, "I ran into the counter." April had to cover her mouth with one hand to hold back her laughter.

After a moment or two, Roger struck a match and quickly lit a candle. The flickering golden light gave an odd cast to his features as he used the lit candle to light two or three more, setting the candles on the counter and the table.

Now that there was some light, Mark picked up his camera and panned across the loft, narrarating as he did. "September 21st, somewhere around 11 PM. The power's out… again. Just our luck." Lightning flashed in the sky, visible through the window; in the lightning and candle light, April saw Mark grin at the shot of her silhouetted against the window. He waited until the roll of thunder subsided before he spoke again. "And we're sitting here with nothing to do…"

"Bored out of our minds," Maureen said loudly. Mark swiveled the camera towards her—doubtless her goal in the first place—and smiled.

"Thank you, Maureen."

She beamed, and bounced off the couch. "Let's do something! Come on, we can play a game or something… It's better than just sitting here."

"What game?" Roger asked suspiciously. He sat on the table, careful not to knock over a candle, and watched Maureen cautiously. By now, he knew well enough to be suspicious of her intentions when she was too cheerful.

"I dunno…" She thought for a moment, then asked suddenly, "Do we have any alcohol?"

Quickly realizing what she was up to, April shot her a look. "_No_. We are not playing that game."

Maureen pouted. "Why not?"

"What game?" Roger repeated.

April ignored him and answered Maureen's question. "Because every time we do you embarrass me. Because for some reason you know exactly _how_. Besides which, you have a tendency to get me drunk."

Maureen grinned at her. "Well, that's just because it's fun… How about we play without the alcohol?"

April sighed. "Fine." She got off the window sill and walked over to the couch, sitting down beside Mark.

"Okay, this'll be fun," Maureen announced, and sat down on Mark's other side, waving Collins, Roger and Benny closer with one hand. "We're playing 'I Never', with ten fingers. Mark, put down the camera, you'll need your hands."

"What the hell is 'I Never'?" Roger asked.

Collins chuckled and sat on the floor in front of the couch. "Put up your hands like this," he said, demonstrating by holding up both hands, palm out. "Now I say something I've never done, and if _you've_ done it, you put down one finger."

"And the last person who still has fingers up wins," Maureen said brightly.

"Or loses, depending on how you look at it," April added, smiling at Roger, who still looked incredulous.

"I'll go first," Collins said, and glanced at Benny. "I've never hit one of my friends."

Benny glared at him, but put one finger down. So did Roger, April, and Maureen. Mark blinked at them. "You all are a very violent group."

Collins shook his head. "Just temperamental, I think." He glanced to Roger, sitting directly to his left. "Your turn."

Roger gave him a look that seemed to say, _Do I have to?_, but after a moment he complied. "Fine. I've never… worn girl's clothes."

"That's not _fair_!" Maureen protested. "You can't just—" She stopped and looked at Mark, who had just put one finger down. "…Mark?"

It was hard to be sure in the flickering light of the candles, but it looked like he blushed. "I was just… I used to borrow clothes from some of my friends and… Well, you couldn't _tell_! They just… fit me and… um…"

Roger smirked. "Fine, I'll change it. I've never worn a dress."

Everyone stared at Mark when he didn't put his finger back up.

"…Mark?" April prompted gently.

"It was a bet. With Roger… and sort of Collins and Benny," he grumbled resentfully. This time he really did blush, unmistakably, then added unnecessarily, "I lost." He glared at her indignantly as she burst into uncontrollable laughter.

* * *

April woke up in the middle of the night—she couldn't tell what time it was, because the room was dark, the candles having guttered out some time while she slept. It was still storming outside. She sat up slowly, careful not to wake up Mark—she'd snuggled against him on the couch before falling asleep, rather than just going to bed. That week they had spent with Mark stuck on the futon with her had done quite a bit in eliminating any trace of awkwardness between the two of them. Besides…

As she slid off the couch, she could see Maureen and Benny both asleep on the futon, and Roger hadn't even gone to his room, just fallen asleep on the floor with a pillow. Collins must have gone to his room, but everyone else had apparently just dropped off one by one here in the living room. Not a surprise, given that they'd stayed up for quite a while, talking, now and then playing some insane game Maureen suggested, or just teasing one another (mostly Roger mocking Mark)…

April stood up, shivering a little. It had gotten cold in the night. She frowned at Roger for a moment, thinking that he _had_ to be cold, sleeping on the floor without a blanket or anything. She had Mark, and Maureen and Benny had each other _and_ the blankets on the futon, but Roger… She shook her head and walked into Roger and Mark's bedroom. She didn't have to linger long, just grabbed the blankets off of both beds and walked back out, back to the couch.

As she passed him, April draped one of the blankets over Roger, and then climbed back on the couch next to Mark, resting her head against his shoulder and tossing the blanket around both of them. As she did, Roger stirred, then opened his eyes and looked up at her. She could just barely see him in the faint, diffused light that came in through the windows. "What time is it?"

She shrugged and spoke quietly to avoid waking up anyone else. "I don't know. Late. Early. More likely the latter."

"Okay." A pause, and then he frowned—or she thought he did, though it was hard to tell in the dark. "Did you get me a blanket?"

"Yeah. I thought you might get cold."

"Oh… thank you."

She smiled. "No problem. Goodnight, Roger."

"…G'night, April."

Even with the warmth of the blanket and Mark beside her, she shivered. She liked the way her name sounded when he said it. _April. Not April Showers or 'Ril, just… April._


	8. Food of Love, Emotion

**Chapter Eight: Food of Love, Emotion  
**_Love is friendship set to music. – Unknown_

A month or two earlier, April would have sworn she'd never go out to a place like this of her own free will, without Maureen dragging her along or something of the sort. And yet… here she was, without even Mark or Maureen to keep her company. But… Roger was playing. And he'd asked her to come. That was reason enough.

In the month or so since she'd first seen him perform, April had almost forgotten his stage presence, the way he automatically drew every eye to him when he was on stage—not even singing, just _standing_ there. When he was actually singing…

She'd barely taken her eyes off of him all night, just watching the way he leaned into the microphone, his absolute confidence, the cocky smirk… April could see why Maureen had first taken him home. Not that she hadn't before, but she could see it so much more clearly when he was performing, the fire, the light in him…

As he finished his song, he looked up, seeking out April across the bar. She was alone at her table, and when he found her he caught her eye, and smiled…

For a second, April lost track of the entire world, everything but his eyes, and his smile.

* * *

"April?"

"Huh?" April and Maureen were lying on the futon, April almost asleep, Maureen apparently not so much. The boys were already in their rooms, presumably asleep, but Maureen still spoke quietly, as if trying to make _sure_ they didn't overhear her if they were awake.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Maureen, it's late, I'm tired, and I have to go to work fairly early tomorrow, certainly earlier than you are _ever_ awake barring extreme circumstances."

"So…"

"Make it quick." When Maureen hesitated for too long, April sighed. "Maureen, whatever it is, just _ask_, okay?"

"Are you sleeping with Mark?"

"_What_?"

"What about Roger?"  
"_Maureen_!"

"Hush, you'll wake them up!"

"Well… I just…" If she hadn't been awake before, April certainly was now. "What on _earth_ would make you ask that?" She sat up to glare at her friend in the dark.

"I just thought that you're really friendly with them and—"

"Oh my _God_… Maureen? I'm friendly with them because they're my _friends_. That does _not_ mean I'm sleeping with them. It's the same with Benny and Tom and _you_."

"It's not the _same_. Mark and Roger are guys."

April stared at her. "So are Tom and Benny."

"Well, yeah, but Collins is gay and Benny's… Benny." April could only blink at Maureen, unable to comprehend what had gotten into her. Maureen studied her for a moment, and then added, "If you're going to sleep with one of them, make it Mark. Roger's just… a bastard. You don't want him."

"That's what I've been _telling_ you," April snapped in annoyance. "Look, what about you? Why don't you have a new boyfriend yet?"

That took Maureen enough by surprise that she remained silent for some time. "Huh?" she asked at last.

"I haven't seen you single for this long in almost a year, I think. So what is it?" Now on the attack, striking back for Maureen's questions, April asked, "What's stopping you from trying to seduce Mark or Benny? God, even Tom? For all that he's gay, I wouldn't put it past you to _try_… What's the matter with you? Are you sick?" She put a hand to Maureen's forehead as if feeling for a fever, and Maureen smacked it away.

"I'm not sick, you idiot. It's none of your business, so stop."

"Then you stop asking insane questions," April retorted. "Can I just go to sleep now?"

"Fine," Maureen said with a sigh. "I'm just… I'm trying to help, okay? Just… be careful, 'Ril. I don't want you to get hurt."

April rolled over, turning her back to Maureen, and shifted her pillow a little. "I'm a big girl, Maur. I can take care of myself."

* * *

April stretched out on the couch, cradling the phone to her ear. Since getting home from work some time in the afternoon, she had the loft mostly to herself, and so she took the opportunity to make a phone call she'd been meaning to for a long time. She listened as, on the other end of the line, the phone rang once, twice…

A young woman picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Jessi-love! It's me." April brightened immediately upon hearing Jessica's voice. They'd been best friends since high school, and not even living on opposite sides of the country could change that.

Jessica squeaked happily. "April, my star! How's it going, baby? I haven't heard from you in a month! You still alive in the Big City?"

April giggled. "Yes, I'm alive. I moved."

"What, out of your apartment? Did you have a fight with your roommate or something?"

"Maureen? No. We were just… having trouble paying our rent, so these guys we know offered to—"

"What guys and why haven't I heard about them? You're holding out on me, April-baby."

April smiled. "I am not. I just haven't had the time to call you yet."

"So tell me, then. How'd you meet them?"

"Roger was Maureen's boyfriend at the time, and—"

"Was?"

"Well, you know Maureen. But Mark and Roger asked us to move in, and the other two didn't argue, so…"

"The other two? So there are _six_ of you?"

"Well… yeah. But it's a big loft, so we manage."

"Okay, you need to tell me about your new friends. All of them."

"You're nosy."

"No, I just want to know who these people are if you're living with them, April-star. Need to make sure they're looking after you."

"What, I can't look after myself?"

"…Sure you can, honey. Just tell me."

"Well, there's Roger…"

"Maureen's ex-boyfriend?"

"Right. Are you going to let me talk, or interrupt every three words?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Continue."

April grinned, amused by Jessica's bubbly attitude. As annoying as it could sometimes be, she'd missed it. "Alright. So there's Roger. He's a musician… a rock star." She smiled to herself at that before she went on. "He's… as stubborn as Maureen, and arrogant, but… he's a nice guy. Even if Maureen hates him now."

Jessica paused. "Is he good-looking?" she asked at last, and April sighed. She'd known that was coming.

"Jessi, he's Maureen's ex. And my roommate. I can't—"

"Avoiding the question. Is he?"

"…Yes, he is. Very."

April could almost hear Jessica's satisfied smirk. "Hah. At least I got you to admit it. So what's your problem?"

This was starting to sound uncomfortably like her conversation with Maureen last night. "I don't have a _problem_. I just live with him. And he's Maureen's ex. It would be weird if I—"

"Honey, from what you've told me, half of people in the East Village are very likely Maureen's exes. You shouldn't let _that_ stop you."

Realizing that this was a wholly pointless argument, April sighed and changed the subject. "And then there's Mark…"


	9. It's Gonna be a Happy New Year

**Disclaimer:** I stole lyrics for Roger's song from Adam Pascal's song "I'm With You." From _Civilian._ Go buy it. Spread the Adam-love.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: It's Gonna be a Happy New Year  
**_Poetry, Joan. It's the only language worthy of love.—Joan of Arcadia_

"December 25th, 8:32 AM. Christmas Day." Mark held his camera in one hand, glancing up every now and then as he narrarated. "Maureen felt the need to wake us up—trust this to be the one day she's awake before the rest of us."

On the couch, Maureen laughed indignantly. "Marky…" He just smiled at her from behind the camera and went on. He shifted the camera a little to focus on Benny, still half-asleep leaning against the arm of the couch though they had managed to all but drag him out of his room, then to Roger, glaring at the camera from on top of the table, and April, grudgingly awake with a blanket clutched around her shoulders. Besides Maureen and apparently Mark, Collins was the only one really awake, watching Mark with a smile from where he stood behind the couch.

"Roger, you could at least try to smile," Mark said, which only earned him a rude gesture from Roger. Mark ignored it and continued to speak. "We have no Christmas tree, and no heat despite the fact that it is freezing outside—and, consequently, inside—but! We do have presents."

"Mark?" Roger said, still watching him from the table.

"What?"

"Put down the camera or it goes out the window."

Mark hesitated, then slowly lowered the camera and turned it off. "You throw my camera out the window and your guitar goes right after it," he muttered. Roger ignored the threat, responding only with a mocking smirk.

Maureen bounced on the couch excitedly, while April just rolled her eyes. Maureen's enthusiasm for holidays, while it could be endearing and sometimes annoying, unfortunately was rarely contagious, at least in April's experience. "Can we do presents now?" Maureen asked excitedly.

Benny sat up and smiled a little at Maureen, perhaps amused by her energy—even if he had, moments ago, been half-asleep. "Sure, babe. Knock yourself out."

Maureen squeaked happily and bounded off the couch, over to the table where they had put the presents last night, on the opposite side of the table from where Roger now sat. All of them were small, of course, because aside from Benny most of the loftmates were broke—and they had made Collins promise not to "liberate" any of the gifts he'd given. Maureen sorted the presents into piles and handed them out to the people they were meant for, while Roger watched her with an air of bemusement. April noticed, and grinned. He probably hadn't seen this side of Maureen before.

When Maureen handed April her presents, April took them and set them aside for the moment, watching the others opening theirs first. After a minute or two, she stood up and retrieved Mark's camera from where he had set it down and, after a moment or two figuring out how to turn it on, started filming. Maybe it wouldn't turn out as good as anything Mark would shoot—after all, he was the filmmaker—but Mark was busy, and at least Roger probably wouldn't threaten to throw the camera out the window while April was holding it. No one even noticed April was filming them until Maureen glanced up and frowned at her.

"April! Stop playing with Mark's camera and open your presents."

Mark blinked and looked up at her, and April smiled at him, shrugged. "I thought you might want this on film. Or else I just picked up too much from my mother, when she brought out the camera every Christmas…"

Mark grinned up at her. "Thanks. Don't worry about it—my mom used to do the same thing every Chanukah. And every birthday. And… you get the idea."

April laughed and handed Mark his camera with a warning look at Roger not to protest, then picked up one of her presents—from Mark. She smiled at him and unwrapped it carefully, not tearing so much as a single corner of the paper as she did so. Maureen rolled her eyes at the time April took to unwrap it, but didn't say anything. It was a blank notebook, thick and with a hard wood cover, fastened closed with a clasp. Tucked in alongside the notebook was a nice pen, sparkly and bright, almost pinkish purple—her favorite color. She wondered absently how Mark knew that as she looked up at him. "Mark, I—"

"Look inside the front cover," he said with a bit of a smile.

She undid the clasp that held the notebook closed and flipped open the front cover to find a note written in Mark's handwriting inside.

_April Shower,_

_You are such a wonderful, talented, amazing person, and I'm so glad to have met you. Now take this notebook and write something that's going to change the world, okay? I know you'll make us all proud._

_Love your "brother", forever,_

_Mark_

April set the notebook and all but launched herself at Mark, disregarding the camera as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, almost knocking him over backwards as she did. "Thank you so much, Mark. That's so sweet!"

He smiled a little sheepishly at her. "I just… I though you might… I'm glad you like it."

She grinned and kissed his cheek quickly. "Of course I do." Before she released him from the hug, she murmured softly in his ear, "I'm glad I met you too. I'm glad you're my brother, Marky." When she let go of him and sat back, she could see that he looked both embarrassed and absolutely happy.

* * *

April lay on her futon, eyes closed with her tape player resting on her stomach, just listening to Roger's voice coming in through her headphones. His present to her had been a tape he'd made of himself singing, and she'd put it on her tape player as soon as she'd gotten the chance. Most of them were songs that she'd heard him play before, either in the loft or one of the times she'd seen him actually perform, but he'd told her there was one he told her he had just written recently, for this tape…

Unfamiliar guitar chords filtered through the headphones, and April smiled faintly. This had to be it. When she heard his rough voice sing the first song, her guess was confirmed: it was a new song, one she'd caught him working on once or twice in his room, but he'd always stopped the second he realized she was around.

_"Starlight and wonder, the universe seen through your eyes… The moon is a glorious halo hanging high over your head every night."_ The words themselves captivated April—who would have ever guessed that Roger was such a poet? Well, truth be told, she'd known—she'd always known—but most people would never see it in him…

April listened silently as the tape played itself out, winding to the end of this, the last song on the tape. When the tape player shut itself off with a loud click, she opened her eyes, the last line of Roger's song echoing in her mind.

_"Hold on to something 'cause your life's about to begin."

* * *

_

"I can't believe we actually got thrown out," April said quietly as the six of them walked down the dark street. They were almost alone on the street, unusual as it was—tonight, on New Year's Eve, most everyone else was elsewhere.

"Oh, that's nothing unusual," Mark commented. He had his camera out, filming as he walked in front of the group, walking backwards so that he could get the shot he wanted. Roger had commented earlier that he'd be lucky if he didn't trip over his own feet doing that, but so far he hadn't, by some miracle. "It's happened before… I think they're kind of _used_ to that from us by now. Besides, we _were_ kind of loud."

"We didn't get thrown out, exactly," Collins corrected. "We simply voluntarily removed ourselves before it became necessary."

April rolled her eyes. "Sure, Tom, whatever you say. We got thrown out."

Maureen bounced alongside April, entirely too chipper, and more excited then disgruntled at having been thrown out of the restaurant. "That was the best birthday ever!" Maureen's birthday had actually been yesterday, the 30th, but they had waited until tonight to take her out to celebrate—to the Life Café. But… well, however Tom chose to phrase it, they had gotten a little too loud, and been asked to leave. For some time afterwards, they had been wandering around the city despite the fact that it was late, and dark out, none of them quite ready to go home.

Mark glanced at his watch without lowering the camera, and commented, "About a minute to midnight. Any New Year's resolutions? Anyone?"

April hesitated before she answered, a little shyly. "I'm going to get something published. Or try, at least."

Maureen grinned and slung an arm around April's shoulders. "I think I'll make it my resolution to get our April-dear a boyfriend. She's been single for too long."

"Maureen," April said seriously. "You can't make that your resolution."

"Why not?"

"Because your resolution has to be about _you_."

"Who says?"

April pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and decided not to argue any further. Otherwise Maureen would just give her a headache. She was saved from the need to reply as Mark glanced at his watch again and started counted down. "Five… four… three… two… one… Happy New Y—"

He broke off in startled surprise as April bounded forward and gave him a quick, friendly kiss on the lips; at the same time, Maureen turned and gave Benny a somewhat _more_ than friendly kiss, but he didn't protest. Collins and Roger were left standing alone. Collins looked at Roger with a bit of a smirk, and Roger narrowed his eyes.

"You even think about it and I swear I'll kill you."


	10. A Small, Lovely Kiss

**Disclaimer:** Lyrics for the song in _this_ chapter are from "Undiscovered" by Adam Pascal, on _Model Prisoner_. It's my favorite of all of Adam's songs, and has always seemed like an April song to me.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: A Small, Lovely Kiss  
**_With a kiss let us set out for an unknown world. – Alfred de Musset_

April lay on her stomach on the couch, notebook open in front of her. It was the notebook Mark had given her for Christmas. Purple pen in hand, she still hadn't written a word in it, almost afraid to make a mark in it until she felt certain every word would be perfect. Write something to change the world. Right. She tapped her pen against the notebook, almost in a rhythm to mirror that of the guitar chords that filtered out of Roger's bedroom. She and Roger were the only two home that day, sitting in the freezing loft, both trying to create something of meaning. April couldn't help but think that Roger had to be more successful at it than she.

She glanced up as the music from Roger's room stopped suddenly, and she heard Roger muttering to himself under his breath. He sighed and called, "April? Could you come in here? I need some advice."

April hesitated, then stood up, closing her notebook and leaving both it and her pen on the couch. She stopped in Roger's doorway, leaning halfway in as she braced herself on the door frame with both hands. "Sure. What d'you need?"

He lifted one hand and beckoned her into the room, gesturing for her to sit on the bed beside him. He had his guitar in his hands, several pieces of paper scattered on the bed around him, with random lines written on them, along with what looked like sketchy drawings of something. She had to move some of the papers to sit down next to Roger, picking them up and frowning at them as she tucked her legs under her on the bed. On one of the papers, along with lyrics scrawled in Roger's untidy handwriting—what looked like the song Roger had given her on that tape—there were sketches of a woman, many times erased, redrawn. It could have been Maureen, but… No, the hair was too short. It could have been April.

Before she could study it for very long, Roger took it from her and set it aside, his movements awkward and uncertain. April looked at him curiously. "What was—"

"Nothing," he said almost too quickly. "It was… nothing. I, um… I wanted to ask you… what you thought of this. It's not done yet, and I only have a little so far, but…"

April smiled. "You know I'm not much good musically, so I'm not sure how much good I'll be…"

Roger only shrugged, less awkward now. "I'm not looking for anything professional. That's one of the few things my band's good for. I just want to know what you think."

"Alright, let's hear it."

He played something that didn't sound exactly like a complete tune, more of a fragment of one. _"Twist her words and believe what you need you'll receive, never be the same…"_ As he went on, April found herself watching his hands, fascinated. He had artist's hands, slender, graceful as they flickered over the guitar strings easily, never faltering. She was still listening to him, but his hands had entranced her, and she had to shake her head a little to clear her mind.

_"…says 'I am', then whispers the word undiscovered. Says 'I can open your eyes…'"_ He trailed off, and the melody cut off abruptly. "That's all, so far. D'you… do you like it?" He looked up from his guitar, and for a second she didn't say anything, her mind still caught up in his graceful artist's hands and a melody and a rough, quiet voice and now those blue eyes…

"It was… amazing, Roger," she said at last, and smiled. "Then again, I'd say that about any of your songs, so I'm not sure what you want my advice for… I'm hardly unbiased, after all."

He smiled a little at her and set his guitar to one side. "Mostly I just wanted to know what you thought. If you liked it. That was… really all."

She raised one eyebrow at him teasingly. "What, the rock star's not completely confident in his abilities?"

He caught the gently mocking tone and rose to the challenge, responding with the arrogant smile he'd perfected. "Of course I am. I just like to feed my ego every now and then." April laughed and shoved him playfully, Roger smiled and caught her wrists easily in both hands, and for a second they both sat there, silent, unmoving. In an instant, something had altered, as if something in the air between them had somehow snapped into alignment, and Roger's eyes searched her face silently. He still had that overconfident smile on his face, but there was something quiet there too. Had it been anyone else, April would have thought it hesitance, uncertainty, but no, not Roger. Never Roger.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she murmured under her breath just before leaning in to kiss him. It started out hesitant, shy and uncertain. It only stayed that way for about half a second. Still holding April's wrists, Roger pulled her closer, and as he returned the kiss it could no longer be called anything even close to innocent, all lips and tongues and melting into one another and their own heartbeats hammering in their ears loud enough to drown out the rest of the world.

When at last she had to pull away for air, April drew a slow breath, rested her forehead against Roger's shoulder, and asked hesitantly, "What… what did we just do?"

"I don't know," he answered softly. "But it wasn't a bad thing, was it?"

"No. Not at all."

* * *

Mark had to wait until April left for work before he cornered Roger. For the past four days, Roger had been acting… well, weird around her. Whenever April came around, Roger would get awkward, make excuses to leave… It made no sense. What was more, it wasn't anything like the Roger Mark knew. As soon as April left the loft, Mark went straight to his and Roger's room and found Roger laying on his bed, bracing a notebook against his legs as he wrote something. Mark didn't bother beating around the bush, just sat down on the bed at Roger's feet and asked bluntly, "What's the matter with you?"

Roger looked up and quirked one eyebrow questioningly. "Is this one of those questions I'm just supposed to understand without any explanation whatsoever, or…?"

Mark sighed. "You and April. What's going on?"

Roger stared at him for a moment, then looked quickly down at his notebook. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do too," Mark said accusingly. "You've been acting weird around her. Did you two get in a fight or something?" He paused. "No, that can't be it. We'd all have known it before now, if only because you wouldn't be able to keep from saying _something_… What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Roger said, but he didn't look up from his notebook as he said it.

"Roger."

Roger just sat there for a moment, staring at his notebook, but his pen wasn't moving. At last, he looked up and said, softly, "She kissed me."

Mark watched him, unable to come up with a response for a second. "She—wait, _what_? She kissed _you_?"

Roger hesitated. "Well, okay, I kissed her. We kissed each other. Whatever."

Mark was definitely not following this. "So what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem." Roger's attention was back on his notebook now, his pen tapping against it, and everything about his expression making it quite clear that he was intent on ignoring Mark.

"You're avoiding her," Mark pointed out.

"I'm not… exactly…" He sighed and looked up again, irritated. "Okay, I am. She's just… she's…" He trailed off, and Mark raised one eyebrow.

"She's…?" he prompted, and Roger glared at him.

"She's not like Maureen. I don't want to..." He trailed off again, and snapped, "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Roger?" Mark said slowly as he stood up. "I'm only going to say this once, so make sure you listen to me, okay? Stop being an idiot and _talk to her_." He left the room before Roger could say a single word in response.

* * *

April glanced at her watch as she grabbed her coat and threw it on, starting for the door of the diner. Midnight, or close enough to it. "I'm going home, Leia!" she called over her shoulder, pushing open the door and immediately met by a rush of cold air. Walking home in January weather would not be pleasant.

"Okay!" the other waitress called cheerily from across the diner. "I'll see you tomorrow, April!"

April smiled and stepped outside, pulling her coat a little tighter around her. _Cold, cold… Well, just so long as I can make it home without freezing to death…_

A man had been leaning against the outside wall of the diner, and as she approached he stepped out in front of her. "Hey."

April squeaked and jumped backwards before she recognized Roger's voice. She pressed a hand to her now racing heart and stepped forward to hit him on the shoulder with her other hand. "What the _hell_? Don't you _ever _scare me like that again!" She took a moment to calm down, and then blinked at him. "What the hell are you doing here?" After all, he had definitely been avoiding her since… _that _day… and now he just decided to wait outside the diner until she got off work?

"I just…" Roger hesitated a moment, and she walked past him, hurrying down the street towards the loft. It was cold, and she wanted to get home. Roger caught up with her in a few seconds. "I wanted to make sure you got home safe."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Haven't I gotten home safe every night before this when I'm working late?"

"Well, yes, but…" He faltered for a minute, and then frowned at her. "You're shivering."

"Yes, Roger, that's what happens when it's cold outside." She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice—maybe she was holding a bit of a grudge for his avoiding her, but she told herself she wasn't just being petty. After four days of nothing from him, she had to be suspicious of whatever had prompted him to walk her home.

She jumped a little in surprise as he slipped his arm around her shoulders, and looked up at him with a start. Roger smiled down at her. "April, I'm… sorry I've been an idiot these past few days. I just… I don't know what I was thinking. But… I like you, April. I really do. Forgive me?"

April considered for a minute, and then wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled up at him. "Kiss me and I'll think about it."

He chuckled softly and leaned down to her. "Demanding, aren't you?" he murmured against her lips, and a shiver went down her spine that had nothing whatever to do with the cold.


	11. To Passion When It's New

**Chapter Eleven: To Passion When It's New  
**_Soul meets soul on lover's lips.—Percy Bysshe Shelley_

April lay on her back on Mark's bed, her feet up against the wall, head hanging over the edge so that she watched Roger upside down. He sat on his own bed with his guitar, playing the same melody over and over. Just a few notes, and then he would stop, frown, play it again, sometimes a little differently, sometimes with no alteration that April could hear. She smiled a little and said at last, "Roger? You're obsessing. Stop it."

He glanced up at her, raising his eyebrows a little when he saw her watching him from her upside down position on the other bed. "I am not obsessing. I just want to get it right."

April gave him a look somewhere between amused and irritated—it didn't exactly have the effect she wanted, perhaps because an upside-down glare just wasn't very intimidating. "It sounds fine to me. And you're going to drive me crazy. That's going to be in my head for a week now."

Roger grinned at her and set his guitar down gently. "Fine, I'll stop. Did you know that you're kind of bossy?"

April mock-gasped, pretending to be offended. "I am _not_!" She pushed her feet against the wall and tumbled off the bed easily, landing on her feet. She sat down alongside Roger, smirking at him as he gave her an odd look and commented, "You know, you could break your neck that way."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "If I'm bossy, then you're a mother hen. 'Break my neck' indeed."

"I am not a mother hen," he retorted. "And don't stick that out unless you plan to use it."

"Maybe I—" She cut off as he kissed her, and pulled her closer to him. April giggled and pulled back just a little. "That's not fair."

"What's not fair?" he asked with a smile, his arms now looped comfortably around her waist. "Don't even try to tell me you don't like it."

"Well, yeah, but—"

Another kiss, and she didn't even try to pull away this time. It was far too easy to just melt into that kiss and lose herself… and she really didn't care. Her hand slid up to his cheek, glided along his jawline until it circled around the back of his neck. The other hand rested on his chest, just above his heart, and as for _his_ hands…

April broke the kiss and asked, a little breathless, "How long until Mark gets home?"

"I'm not sure," Roger said after a moment. "He's visiting his parents, so… late."

"Good." April smiled and pulled him close again.

* * *

When Mark got home, Collins, Benny and Maureen were sitting on the couch, and the second he stepped in the doorway they all three looked up at him as if surprised. He knew immediately that there had to be something going on, but he couldn't summon the energy to ask about it—visits with his parents were always draining. He unwound his scarf from around his neck, draped it over the back of a chair as he passed it, and headed for his room.

Collins cleared his throat as Mark reached the closed bedroom door. "You probably don't want to go in there, Mark."

He sighed and turned to face Collins. "Why not?"

"Because Roger and April are in there."

"So? I don't see why—oh." Mark frowned at the door as realization slowly dawned. "_Oh_!" He took a few steps back and turned to look at the other three. "You mean… they're… the two of them are…"

"Yes, Mark," Maureen said patiently. "They are."

He glanced back at the door thoughtfully. "Does this mean I'm not getting my room back again?" he asked at last, and Maureen simply collapsed into giggles while Mark gave her a quizzical look, unable to see what she found funny about that. Before he could ask, the bedroom door creaked open, April stepped out and immediately stopped just outside the doorway upon seeing Mark.

She stood there for a few seconds, running a hand through tousled hair in a self-conscious attempt to smooth it, and then gave an embarrassed little smile. "Um… hi, Mark."


	12. Just Born to be Bad

**Chapter Twelve: Just Born to Be Bad  
**_All fire burns, little baby. You'll learn. – _Neverwhere_, Neil Gaiman_

Roger sighed as he put his guitar in its case and closed it, in a quieter mood than he usually was after he performed. But then, April hadn't been able to get there like she had every time before when he had a gig—usually she'd watch him, but tonight she'd had to work out, couldn't get out of it… Wasn't a whole lot either of them could do, and Roger at least had the sense not to be too upset about it. But still, it wasn't the same without her watching him. Not that same… spark.

His guitar put away, he picked it up, stood, started to leave. April would be waiting for him—of course, the gig had been just early enough that she hadn't been able to make it, just late enough that he couldn't make it to the diner to walk her home like he did every night she was working past sunset. But as he started for the door, he heard one of his band members—Josh—call from behind him, "Hey, Roger, where're you going?"

Roger half-turned around to face him, a bit of a wry smirk on his face. Josh and the two other members of the band sat in a loose semi-circle of chairs, in one of their quieter moods. Gigs with the Well Hungarians invariably ended with one of two results—either they picked up a girl at the bar where they'd been playing and brought her home, or they just sat around afterwards, maybe got drunk or high. Tonight was, obviously, one of the latter nights.

"Home," Roger said, as if it should be obvious. He really didn't feel like talking to Josh just now, when any real sort of conversation with him tended to turn nasty pretty quickly, or if not that, then into some sort of competition. "April will—"

"April?" Josh snorted and rolled his eyes. "Should've guessed. She's got you whipped, man." Behind Josh, Roger could see Michael wince and rub at his temples, probably anticipating another not-quite-argument between Josh and Roger. It had happened before, and it never surprised anyone when the two of them got into their little competitions, but…

Roger simply shrugged, set his guitar case down gently by the door, turned back to the other three and glanced between Josh, Michael and Rob calmly. Josh, though he was shorter than Roger by a couple inches and more slender, just arched an eyebrow at him as if trying to pick a fight. The other two almost avoid meeting his eyes, clearly wanting nothing more than to just stay out of this conversation, whatever it was. Satisfied, Roger turned his attention back to Josh. "She's got me whipped, huh?"

"Come on, she's got you wrapped around her finger. We hardly ever see you anymore except when you have to be around, now that you're spending all your free time with _her_."

Roger sneered despite himself, unable to contain his disdain. "I didn't know you missed my company all that much. I'd hate to deprive you of having me around." He sat down in one of the chairs, backwards with his arms folded over the seat back, chin resting on his arms.

Josh rolled his eyes a little and started to dig through the backpack that lay on the ground by his chair. "I liked that other girl better. What's her name."

"Maureen? Yeah, you _would_," Roger muttered under his breath, feeling somehow obliquely slighted. Only someone as idiotic as Josh would ever compare April to _Maureen_ and think that. He wondered absently why they still kept him around instead of replacing him with someone that Roger could tolerate being around, at least, but that train of thought faded away as he noticed Josh pulling a needle from his bag, a bag of something…

He raised an eyebrow, and Josh caught his eye and smiled a little, almost daring him to comment. Roger couldn't resist the challenge, though he knew Josh expected it, and half-snapped, "What the hell is that?"

Josh shrugged. "It's just smack." A long pause then, as he fiddled with the needle, slowly rolling it between his fingers, and he didn't look up at Roger again for almost a minute. "I've got a little extra, if you want some."

Roger stared at him. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

A noncommittal shrug again, a cocky, challenging look. "Oh, that's right. You're scared your girlfriend's gonna find out, right?" His lips curled in an ugly smirk, and he shook his head a little. "Figures."

Something in the back of Roger's mind, some part of him still sensible, whispered that this was _not_ the way to prove himself, that he shouldn't let a bastard like Josh push him this far, but… He clenched his jaw and held out his hand. "Fine. Give me that."

* * *

Roger let himself into the loft quietly, careful not to make too much noise as he stepped inside, closed the door behind him quietly. Coming in this late unnoticed was more difficult recently—a month ago, Mark had moved out of their bedroom, into Collins and Benny's, to let April and Roger have the other bedroom to themselves (which Mark claimed was more for his sanity than anything else). That arrangement had only lasted for three days, after which Collins had gotten fed up and moved his bed out into the living room after creating a third bedroom of sorts out of blankets hung from the ceiling, which left Benny and Mark in the second bedroom and not nearly as cramped. Walking across the living room, Roger glanced to the futon with Maureen, and Collins' "room"—both of them were asleep, as far as he could tell, and no one else was in the living room, so maybe no one else would notice he'd come home so late. Maybe April would be asleep and not realize… Maybe no one would be know to ask _why_.

No such luck. Roger stepped into his and April's room, and though the lights were out and April should have been asleep, she sat up immediately when she heard him come in. "Roger. Where were you?" There was no mistaking that she'd been lying in bed awake, waiting for him to get home. Her eyes never left him, searching his face in the darkness. He shook his head and closed the door behind him quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"Out. I was… with my band. I probably should have called, but…" He shrugged and took off his shirt slowly, and as he did his fingers brushed over the needle mark on the inside of his forearm. For an instant, he froze. No, she wouldn't notice it. No way in hell. He tossed his shirt on the floor and slid into bed beside her. She snuggled up against him, her back to him, and after a moment or two he put an arm around her.

"How'd it go tonight?" she asked, softly.

"Huh?" it took him a second to realize what she was talking about, and then he answered distantly, "Oh. Fine."

She was silent, as if waiting for more, but Roger didn't say anything else. There was nothing to say. At last, she sighed and half-turned around to kiss him gently. "I love you," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

* * *

Roger hadn't expected to see April here, tonight, and as a matter of fact, _didn't_ see her. She was supposed to have been working that night, but she didn't want to miss _another_ performance so soon after the last, and Leia had agreed to cover for her. When April thanked her for it, she'd just smiled and said, "I'm really not being nice. I just need the money. Go on and see your boyfriend." April had laughed, and gone on ahead, hanging back from where the band was when she got to the bar. Roger never even looked up at her, completely oblivious to her presence. He was quieter when he wasn't showing off for someone he actually knew, she realized after watching him for a while. Just as confident and self-assured as always, but still… quieter.

She watched him until he and the rest of the band left the stage, and then she stood up to follow him, weaving carefully through the people between her and Roger. It took her a minute or two to figure out where Roger had gone, into a door that led to some back room. The door was cracked half-open, and April walked up to it slowly, looking in but not quite stepping inside. She spotted Roger and the other three she'd only spoken to briefly before, now and then. About to follow him inside, April stopped when she saw what Roger held in his hands, toying with it thoughtfully the way he tended to with any random object he'd picked up. The difference now was that he wasn't just holding some random object—it was a needle.

April backpedaled away from the door, turned and retreated until she found herself standing on the street outside the bar, reminding herself to breathe. Shock, confusion, anger… What the hell was he _thinking_? That idiot, he… She had to talk to him. She just… couldn't go back in _there_. He should come out the back door, when he did leave, she figured, so she sighed and found the alleyway, the back door, and stood there, waiting. For the middle of April, it was still cold outside, blustery. She wrapped her arms around herself and resigned herself to waiting there for a long time.

When the door finally opened—maybe fifteen minutes later, maybe an hour—Roger stepped outside and didn't even seem to notice her at first, simply turning down the alley and starting towards the street, she assumed towards home. "Roger!" she called, and he turned around to face her, startled.

"April. What… what are you doing here? I though you were—"

"Leia covered for me," she explained automatically as she tried to gather her courage to confront him. "I came over to watch you play, and…" Damn it. This wasn't working. "I followed you back with your band. What the… What the _hell_ are you doing, Roger?"

He didn't seem to comprehend the question for a moment, and then his expression darkened. "Nothing. You shouldn't have… you shouldn't have followed me like that."

She clenched her jaw. "Well it's a damn good thing I did! That was a _needle_, Roger. That's not something minor you can brush off. That's dangerous, it's going to—"

"April!" he snapped. "Are you my girlfriend or my mother? I can take care of myself."

April had to remind herself that he was bigger than her and she could _not_ just punch him—besides which, she doubted that she'd be able to cause much damage. So for a few seconds she just stood there, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "How long?"

"What?"

"How. LONG?" she repeated through clenched teeth. "How long have you been using that crap?"

He didn't answer for a while, and when he at last did, it came out defiantly, almost as a challenge. "A month. Almost."

She drew a breath to steady herself. "I can't _believe_ you. You didn't even think to _tell_ me, to—"

"Okay, stop. Just stop. Alright? It's not like I'm using it every day, just… every now and then. To relax. To feel good. Okay? Stop acting like this is such a big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal, you fucking _idiot_!" she screamed at him. He looked taken aback—it was the first time he had ever heard her swear. "If you don't realize that…" She trailed off, shook her head. "You know what, Roger, don't talk to me right now. I can't… just… I give up." She stepped around him, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, and started walking home to the loft. For a moment he stood there in the alleyway, wavering as if he might follow her back, but instead he simply shook his head to himself, his jaw tight and expression closed, turned and went back inside.

When she reached home, April didn't speak to any of the others, just went to her room before they could say a word to her, closed the bedroom door behind her and got into bed, clinging to her pillow. She wouldn't let herself cry, though. She was still awake when Roger came home, an hour or two later, but she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

"April?" he said softly as he stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry." She didn't move, didn't open her eyes, and after a moment he sighed and moved a little closer. "April-baby? You awake?" April ignored him, silently praying he'd go away. She couldn't talk to him now. At last, he sighed and leaned down to kiss her on the temple, then straightened and left the room with his guitar in hand. She lay there, silent, for a minute or two, and finally buried her face in her pillow. God, what was she going to _do_?


	13. To Loving Tension

**Chapter Thirteen: To Loving Tension  
**_We are born to love those who most wound us. – Lawrence Durrell_

"I just… Jessi, I can't… I don't know what…" April had to take several deep breaths to steady herself, just so she wouldn't start sobbing over the phone. She'd brought the phone into her room to call Jessica, closed the door behind her, and Roger was out of the loft—he had been before she woke up. Probably a good thing, because she still doubted she could have spoken to him.

"April, honey, calm down, sweetheart," Jessica murmured soothingly. "Breathe, okay?"

"I know," April said, managing to slow her breathing a little and give at least a semblance of calm. She knew she should be talking to Collins or Mark, someone who could talk to Roger, do something, but… she couldn't. So here she was, crying on the phone to a girl across the country.

"What's going on, April-star?" Jessica asked when April had managed to relax somewhat. "Talk to me, baby."

Still cradling the phone to her ear with one hand, April curled up around a pillow as she lay on the bed, staring quietly out the window. She remained silent for almost too long, but before Jessi could ask her again, she said softly, "It's him. Roger."

The dead silence on the other end of the line made April worry a little, and when Jessica spoke again she sounded almost murderous. "What did he do to you? Do I have to get a plane out there and injure him? Because I will if he—"

"No! He didn't… he didn't do anything to me, Jess. We had a fight. Last night. I…"

"Everyone fights, April," Jessica said gently. "That's normal, you know."

"That's not what's the matter, Jessica." She almost never used Jessica's full name—it was always Jessi, Jess, or some random nickname. That seemed to quiet Jessica for a while, because there was a long silence before she answered.

"Ah. I see. What was the argument about, darling?"

April closed her eyes and pulled her pillow closer to her chest with one arm. Even talking to the girl who had been her best friend since she was twelve, she really _hated_ saying this out loud. It made it too damn real. "I…caught Roger with… a needle last night. When he was with his band. He said he'd been using… whatever the hell it is for a month, and I just… I don't know."

After a pause, Jessica asked, "What's he using, April-love?"

April shrugged helplessly. "How am I supposed to know? Heroin, I guess. I mean, I didn't bother to ask, and…" She chuckled wryly, with no trace of humor. "I'm not exactly used to identifying drugs just by looking at them." Yeah, she and Jessi had grown up upper-middle-class kids in a quiet northern California suburb, naïve little children that they were. Drugs of any kind had not been part of their world. "Does it matter?"

"No, I guess not. Sorry baby. I… God, I don't know what to tell you sweetheart. You know I'd give anything to be able to hold you now."

"I know." April cuddled the pillow, wishing she could cling to Jessi like that just now. Jessica had always made things better, when she could hold her until the bad things just… went away… "Can you just talk to me for a while? I don't care what, I just… want to hear your voice."

Jessica complied, of course, hesitating a moment and then just talking about anything and everything that came into her head—her family, Jessica's family, the weather, her cat… It didn't matter what she said, just that she was still there, talking, and April could close her eyes and hear her voice and for a moment calm down and forget about Roger.

When Jessica finally had to go, April lay there for a few seconds, still holding the phone to her ear after Jessi had hung up and listening to the drone of the dead line. With a sigh, she rolled over to get up and hang up the phone, but stopped and frowned when she faced the door. Maureen was standing there in the doorway, looking both curious and worried. April had been lying on the bed with her back to the door, so she hadn't noticed when Maureen got there, or even when the door opened, too busy paying attention to Jessica talking to her… She hung up the phone carefully, still frowning at Maureen. Neither of them said a word for a moment or two.

"Maureen?" April ventured at last. "How long have you been standing there?"

Maureen hesitated before she answered, and at last shrugged noncommittally, stepping into the room and sitting down on the bed beside April. "A while. I didn't want to interrupt your phone call."

"So you just… stood there? What did your mother tell you about eavesdropping?"

Maureen smiled a little. "Nothing, actually."

April sighed. "Well, that could be part of the problem…"

Seeming to ignore both the sigh and the comment, Maureen pursed her lips, and then asked suddenly, "What's going on, April?"

"What d'you mean, 'what's going on?'"

Maureen didn't look the least bit guilty as she confessed, "I heard… well, not all of that, but a lot of that. About Roger… and… stuff."

"You _what_?" April stared at her, dumbfounded. "You were there for _that long_? And you didn't even let me know you were there? That… that's just… I can't believe you!"

The other woman only shrugged, completely shameless. "Well, ordinarily I would have told you, but it sounded important and you sounded upset so I wanted to hear what was going on and… What's Roger doing?"

"You probably heard enough to figure that out, didn't you?" April asked a little resentfully.

"Yeah. I just wanted to make sure that I… that I heard right."

April didn't answer, just looking at the floor, her mind elsewhere. It took her by surprise when Maureen abruptly leaned over and put her arms around her. "Are you gonna be okay?" Maureen asked gently, and April blinked at her. She had expected an "I told you so," not sympathy. But… it was a nice change.

April nodded slowly, weary and unable to stay annoyed at her friend for long, and dropped her head onto Maureen's shoulder while Maureen pulled her into a closer hug. "Yes," she said softly. "I think so. Maybe?"

Maureen nodded in complete understanding. "Yeah. You need anything? You want me to go yell at Roger or hit him a couple times to knock some sense into him… or get one of the boys to do it, since they can probably hit harder?" April actually laughed weakly, and closed her eyes.

"No, but thanks for the offer. I'm fine, I just… need someone to hold me for a while." Again, Maureen nodded, and didn't say anything more. Neither of them needed to.

The two of them sat there together for a half an hour, maybe more—neither of them saw a reason to glance at the clock—until Mark passed by the open bedroom door, saw Maureen holding April, stopped and asked automatically, "What's wrong?"

April jumped and pulled away from Maureen automatically, and Maureen released her. April fumbled for an explanation, unable to come up with anything coherent, and at last Maureen just rolled her eyes at April's incompetence and said, "It's nothing, Marky. April's just had a bad day, that's all. She'll be fine."

Mark stood there for a few seconds, and glanced to April for confirmation. She smiled a little to reassure him, and though he still seemed unsettled, he accepted it at least, nodding and continuing on his way to whatever he had been doing. April sighed and collapsed backwards onto the bed.

"My head hurts," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

By the time Roger got home, April had managed to compose herself enough that she didn't immediately glare at him as he walked in the door. Lounging on the couch with a book, she simply looked up at him, smiled, and returned to her reading. "Hi Roger."

He stopped in the doorway, almost warier than he would have been had she snapped at him. Hostility he understood. Civility, under the circumstances, was unexpected.

"Hi…?"

It was almost more of a question than a statement. He didn't step any further into the loft until she looked up at him again with a bit of a sigh.

"Roger. Stop acting like I'm going to try to hurt you and come inside."

He smiled a little and walked to the couch, sitting down at her feet. "You mean you're not?"

"No. I still think you're an idiot, and I still have the overpowering urge to scream at you, but I'm not going to, not least because Maureen is a horrible eavesdropper and will just be amused by the argument. We _will_ talk about this eventually, but for the time being, no, I am not going to hurt you." Noticing a faint, amused smile on his face, she frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he said as innocently as he could manage—which was, truthfully, not very.

"Don't give me that," she said, smiling a little herself. "What's funny?"

He grinned. "It's just… you're kind of cute when you're mad."

April set her book down. "Okay, just because I'm not going to injure you _doesn't_ mean I've forgiven you. Do you want to dig yourself even deeper into the hole you've put yourself in?"

"No, not really, but…"

"Good. Then stop smiling at me." Roger just stifled a laugh and had to look away from April. "Roger…" she said warningly. Another laugh, and this time he didn't even attempt to muffle it. "Alright, that's it. You are officially in a hole."

It took a moment for him to answer, as he fought back laughter. "I'm in a hole?"

"You are in a hole," she said, nodding to emphasize her point.

"Oh. Okay. How do I get out of the hole?"

She shrugged. "You put yourself there, you can get yourself out."

"But how do I know when I'm out?"

"I'll tell you."

"…Then why can't you just tell me how to get out?"

She rolled her eyes and picked up her book again. "Because, Roger. That would defeat the purpose."

He sighed. "I wasn't aware there was a purpose."

"Of course there is." When he was silent for a while, she raised an eyebrow at him. "So? Do you have anything to say?"

"…About?" he said, clearly baffled.

April could only sigh. "To get yourself out of the hole you put yourself in, you idiot."

"Oh… um… I…" He ran a hand through his hair. "You have to make this difficult don't you?"

"Yes," she said calmly, grinning at him.

"I don't know what to… okay, please tell me what to say."

April laughed and smirked at him. "Tell me why you love me."

"What?"

"Tell me why you love me. Tell me why you're my boyfriend."

He stared at her. "Do I have to? I mean… I can't…"

"Do you want to get yourself out of the hole?"

Roger winced. "I kind of wish I could hate you right now."

"No you don't. Now come on. You're still in the hole."

"Because…" He trailed off, clearly searching for the right answer. "Because you're beautiful and amazing and talented, and a hell of a good kisser?"

April couldn't keep a broad smile from spreading across her face. "Okay, you're out of the hole."

"Thank you," Roger said, rolling his eyes a little but still amused.

After a few seconds, April asked, "You want to know something?"

"What?"

"You were actually out of the hole about two minutes ago. It was just kind of cute watching you flail."

Roger just stared at her in utter frustration for a moment or two. "Okay, you know what?"

April considered for a moment, tilting her head to one side and looking up at the ceiling in thought before answering. "I'm in a hole, aren't I?"

"You're in a hole."

* * *

Roger stayed with April for the rest of the day, talking to her, laughing and teasing her until it seemed that she had to have forgiven him. He waited until she was asleep before he slipped out of the loft, as quietly as he could, but he couldn't avoid waking up Collins—he'd been standing just outside his "room" when Roger came out, and had just looked at him for a moment. "Where're you going, Roger?"

Roger shrugged, annoyed by the way that everyone seemed determined to keep an eye on him lately. "Out. I'll be back before long." He didn't wait for Collins to answer him, just walked out the front door, closed it behind him. He headed down the stairs, out onto the street…

It didn't take him long to find Dave—he was always around, somewhere, or so it seemed. Roger had met him before, one of Josh's friends, but only in the last month or so had he found out _who_ Dave was, actually. Not just one of Josh's random jackass friends, but… the Man. Emphasis on that, not just a description, but a name or title or… something. Whatever. It didn't really matter to Roger what he was called, just that he could give him what he wanted.

Dave noticed Roger coming from almost a block away, and smirked a little at him as he drew near. That smirk annoyed Roger, but he didn't say anything. He'd never really liked Dave anyway, but… He sighed and dug some money out of his coat pocket, handed it to Dave—the Man, two different people, different personas—and accepted the plastic bag the Man handed him with a nod of thanks, or at least what could be considered thanks. Roger didn't feel particularly thankful at the moment, just… achy, and irritable. He sighed and kept on walking—not back to the loft, but somewhere else, somewhere he could stop a while and banish that aching feeling for a while. He'd lied to Collins: he wouldn't be home any time soon.


	14. But Now the Air is Filled with Confusion

**Chapter Fourteen: But Now the Air is Filled with Confusion  
**_The Fall was a fall from innocence to knowledge.—_The Handmaid's Tale_, Margaret Atwood_

Mark sat in his room, holding his camera in front of him and pointed at himself. "May 11th… No, May 12th, 2:07 AM. April's asleep in the next room, Maureen's out in the living room, the other three still aren't home yet… and someone's still keeping secrets. I'm sick of it." It had been almost a month—not quite—since he'd noticed Maureen holding April in the bedroom, April looking as if she were about to break down. That had worried him, but he'd shrugged it off at the time, since the girls obviously weren't about to tell him. But there had been other things since then, little things, and not-so-little things, that still worried him.

Like last night. Maureen had dragged them all out to a club—much to April and Mark's dismay—and they'd stayed out for most of the night. And then out of the blue April and Roger had gotten into an argument, vehement but quiet enough that no one else could have heard it over the music and general noise of the club. After that, April had just taken Maureen by the arm and told her they were going home, with no more explanation than that… Mark had followed them both home, but he hadn't asked what had happened. He'd almost been afraid of the answer. He still was, but…

He had to ask. If something was upsetting April, he should know. They _all_ should know, but apparently only Maureen was allowed to know whatever secret April was keeping. It bothered him, especially knowing that it had to involve Roger, somehow. He grimaced and looked straight into the camera. "I'm going to ask Maureen, and hope she doesn't kill me. I have to know what's going on."

Mark turned the camera off, set it down on gently on his bed, and walked to the living room. Maureen sat on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest and chin resting on her knees as she stared at the television. Not that there was anything particularly interesting on at this time of night—morning—even after Collins had stolen cable for them. Mark turned off the television as he passed it, and before Maureen could protest, he sat down next to her on the couch and said bluntly, "Tell me what's going on with Roger and April."

She stared at him. "Mark, what…" She stopped, and composed herself, the surprise disappearing from her face almost immediately, consummate actress that she was. "What d'you mean, what's going on?"

Mark sighed. "Maureen. Do you honestly think I don't know when you're keeping secrets? Whatever's going on with the two of them, you know about it, so don't play dumb. It's really not working."

For a moment or two, she just watched him quietly, silently struggling with something, and at last sighed. "I shouldn't tell you. April didn't even want to tell me, I just sort of… found out. Not exactly on accident, but still…"

"Maureen, _please_," Mark said softly. "Roger's my best friend, and April's like my sister. If there's something that's upsetting the two of them… and obviously _you_, because you're involved whether April meant you to be or not… I should know."

She glanced away from him, at nothing in particular, and bit her lower lip. "Mark, I really don't think… I mean, April's going to…"

"Just tell me and April doesn't have to know. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it were important."

"You swear not to let anyone know I told you? Not even Roger or April?"

"Of course. Please, Maur, just _tell me_."

She winced and looked back to him at last. "Roger's… well… he's…" She gave up trying to say it delicately after a moment or two. "Roger's using drugs. Heroin. He has been for… two months now, I guess."

Mark couldn't do anything but just stare at her for the longest time. Finally, he managed to ask numbly, "He's _what_?" She started to repeat herself, and he shook his head a little. "No, it's okay, I understand. I just… I wish that didn't make so much sense. But it does explain some things…" Like why Roger had been acting like even more of an ass than usual lately. Why he'd been disappearing recently with no explanation whatsoever, why he snapped at anyone who asked where he'd been. Damn. "And April?"

Maureen shrugged. "Just… stressed. And upset. She can't get Roger to listen to her, Roger's being a bastard as usual… More than usual, actually."

"I should talk to him," Mark said quietly. "Or her. Both of them actually."

"No!" Maureen shook her head vehemently. "You can't talk to them! Then they'll know I told you and—"

"Did you tell April you _wouldn't_ tell anyone?"

Maureen bit her lower lip again. "Not exactly, no."

"And does Roger even _know_ you know?"

"I don't think so."

Mark sighed and gave her an exasperated look. "Then what's the problem? Maur, this is important. Roger could… He could get really hurt. So could April. We _have_ to talk to them. Maybe I could… I mean, Roger's my best friend, maybe he'd listen to me if I just… say something." Right. He knew even as he said it that that was stupid. Roger was stubborn—if he wouldn't listen to April, Mark very much doubted he could do any good. Worth a try, though…

Maureen had been studying her hands quietly, and finally looked up at Mark in frustrated. "Fine. Go ahead and talk to them, if you think it'll do some good."

Mark nodded and stood up. "Thank you."

She frowned. "For what?"

"Telling me," he said simply. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked to the door of April's room. He didn't want to wake her up, but… Mark tapped gently on the door. "April?" he called softly. "Are you awake?"

The door swung open almost before he got the question out. April stood there in the doorway in her nightgown, looking tired but awake nonetheless. "You know," she said simply. It wasn't a question.


	15. Forget this Cold Bohemian Hell

**Chapter Fifteen: Forget this Cold Bohemian Hell  
**_There was much to hate in this world, and too much to love.—_Wicked_, Gregory Maguire_

"You should come out to California."

April blinked and just sat there for a minute or two, the phone held to her ear. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, honestly. _Please_, April-star? It's been forever since I've seen you, and… It sounds like you could use a break from Roger and New York and everything. Come back home, just for a week or two."

April laughed disbelievingly. "Jessi, I can't just pick up and…"

She trailed off. Why not? Why the hell couldn't she just leave and go home for a little while, get some perspective? God knew she needed it, with Roger getting more and more distant, and those annoyingly sympathetic looks from Mark and Maureen…

"You know what? Maybe I will. I'm going to call Mom and Dad and see if they'll let me stay for a while. If they say no, can I crash at your place?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

April grinned. "Right, stupid question. I'll see you in a couple days."  
Jessica squeaked happily. "Beautiful! I'll be counting the minutes."

With a laugh, April hung up the phone and quickly dialed her parent's number. Trust Jessi to make her laugh when for so long she'd been too on edge to even really smile. The phone rang, and April held her breath. It had been a while since she'd spoken to her parents, and for good reason—neither of them had been particularly pleased with her when she'd decided not to go to college and taken off for New York not long after she turned eighteen. But still. They were her parents. They couldn't say no, could they?

April let out the breath she had been holding when someone picked up the phone and she heard her mother's voice. "Hello?"

"Hey Mom, it's April…"

A short time later, once April had hung up the phone, she went into her room, quickly grabbed a backpack, crammed it with everything she'd need, and hefted it onto her back. _I can't believe I'm doing this,_ she thought, more exhilarated than upset. _Roger's going to be pissed._ But she had made her decision, however spur of the moment, and she wouldn't go back on it. "Hey Mark?" she called as she stepped out into the living room, well aware that he was the only one home at the moment.

He came out of his room after a few seconds. "Hmm?" He noticed April's backpack in a second, and his eyes widened a little. "What's going on?"

"I'm going home for a while, Mark. Don't look at me like that, I'm coming back. Eventually. I just need to get away for a bit." She handed him a piece of paper she had torn out of her notebook, which he accepted, though obviously a little upset about the situation. "That's got my parent's number and address on it, and my friend Jessi's too. If you need to contact me, you can use that." April turned and started for the door, then paused. "Tell everyone I said bye, okay? Especially Roger."

"But… but…" Mark sputtered as she walked out the door. "You can't tell them yourself? You have to leave _now_?"

She grinned at him over her shoulder. "Have to go get a bus ticket. I promise I'll call back when I get there, just to let you know I'm alive." April gave him a little wave and, without a word more, left.

* * *

"Where's April?"

As Roger marched into Mark and Benny's room with the two of them still asleep, Mark's first thought was, _Well, it took him long enough._ Roger had gotten home last night, and he waited until _now_ to ask where April was? Then again, it had been late and, Mark figured, Roger had probably been high at the time, though Mark hadn't actually spoken to him and couldn't be sure. He'd been avoiding speaking to Roger about a lot of things…

His next thought was,_ Why does he assume I know where April is?_ Granted, he _did_, but…

Mark grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head, hoping Roger would go away. The idea of Roger screaming at him this early in the morning was not appealing. That tactic, of course, did not work. Roger simply strode over to the bed, yanked the pillow off of Mark's head, and repeated his question with a bit more annoyance than before. "Mark, where the hell is April?"

Mark sighed and rolled over to look up at Roger, squinting a little to see him clearly without his glasses. Roger quirked one eyebrow, waiting for an answer, and Mark braced himself for an outburst as he said quietly, "She… went to California."

For a moment, he expected outburst did not come. Roger just stared at Mark blankly, and Mark allowed himself to relax a little… and _then_ Roger demanded, "She _what_?" Mark flinched.

"She went to California. To visit her family, I guess. And… she… um…" There was really no way he could explain this, not least because April hadn't really explained it all that clearly to him. He reached over and fumbled through the nightstand beside his bed until he found his glasses and the paper April had given him. He put his glasses on, and handed the paper to Roger, saying by way of explanation, "Her parent's phone number and address, and her friend's. I'd assume she's staying with one of them."

Roger just looked at the paper blankly for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he looked back up at Mark. "She couldn't wait to leave?"

Mark shrugged helplessly. "I asked her to. She had to… go get a bus ticket." It didn't particularly make sense to him either, but… that was April. "She said to tell you all she said bye. And that she'll be back." _Eventually,_ he added silently—he had the feeling that if he said as much out loud, it might set Roger off.

Roger swore loudly and turned away from Mark, stalking out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. Mark flinched again. "This is not good," he muttered under his breath.

Benny was awake by now—it would be hard not to be, with Roger talking so loudly with no concern with anyone who might be sleeping, and slamming doors… He rolled over in his bed to look at Mark across the room. "So April just took off?"

Mark nodded slowly. "Yeah. One minute she was talking to her friend, and the next… she packed a bag and just… left."

Benny didn't say anything else for a moment or two, and finally asked, "Is she really just visiting her family, or getting away from Roger?"

"I don't… She didn't…" Mark sighed and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Both, I think."

Again, Benny was silent, staring out the window for a while. He looked back to Mark at last. "I don't blame her."


	16. The Only Way Out is Up

**Chapter Sixteen: The Only Way Out is Up  
**_A good friend is a connection to life, a tie to the past, a road to the future, a key to sanity in a totally insane world.—Lois Wyse_

April stood on the lawn with her backpack, staring quietly at the house she'd lived in for eighteen years. It looked a lot smaller than she'd remembered it. Almost too neat and tidy too, after being in the city for two and a half years. But… it was home. Even at ten in the morning, it was already hot outside, sun of the early summer heating the day. And she could smell the sea from here, salt air rising from the ocean… Yes, this was home.

She walked across the lawn and pressed the doorbell a little hesitantly. It rang, and she stood there, waiting… The door swung inward after a moment, and a girl looked up at her—perhaps thirteen or fourteen, freckles, red-brown hair and the same hazel eyes as April. She squeaked and jumped forward to hug her sister tightly as she could, almost crushing the breath out of her. "April's here!" she shouted back into the house without letting go of April.

April grinned down at her and hugged her little sister. "Gabrielle or Michelle?" she asked—she never had been able to tell the difference between the twins when they weren't standing right next to each other.

The girl giggled. "What, you can't tell when it's your own sister?"

"Hey, it's been two years since I've seen either of you, how am I supposed to be able to tell?"

"Oh, well, I guess so. I'm Gabrielle."

April grinned and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Thought so. Michelle's not usually this affectionate. She doesn't tackle me."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the second twin came down the stairs, smiling a little. "I'm perfectly affectionate to most people, 'Ril. I just don't like you." April smirked in return; Michelle's wry sense of humor somehow always amused April.

"Michelle, that's not a nice thing to say," said April's mother as she walked down the hall to the front door.

"Mom, you know I was just joking," Michelle said, rolling her eyes, but she subsided with a faint, conciliatory smile to April. April released Gabrielle and went to hug her mother, kissing her on the cheek with a grin. "Hey Mom. I missed you."

Her mother smiled. "I missed you too, little girl. Your father's out this morning, but he'll be back soon. And Chris is—"

April pulled back a little. "Chris is here? Really?"

Her mother nodded. "Home from school for the summer. He's—"

"Right here," said a young man from behind Mrs. Cornwell, and April quickly bounced forward to throw her arms around her older brother's neck. He grinned and hugged her, lifting her into the air for a moment. "Hey little sister. Surviving out in New York, I take it?"

She giggled as he lowered her back to the ground. "I'm alive now, aren't I?"

He shrugged. "Well, it's a big city. Actually, it's _the_ Big City. And you're my little sister."

"Yeah, well." She smiled. "I've got other big brothers to look after me out there. Sort-of older brothers. I'll tell you about them later. But…" She hugged him again, ecstatic to see Chris again. Of all of her family, she'd missed him the most, the brother who'd always looked out for her. But even with Mark and Benny and Collins to act as her older brothers now, in the city… She leaned close and murmured so that only he could hear, "They're never gonna replace you, though."

Christopher grinned down at her fondly. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

At around noon, Jessica showed up at the house. April didn't even try to guess how Jessi knew that she'd arrived that day—maybe she had simply stopped by every day since April had told her she was coming, to make sure she didn't miss her. It wouldn't be unlike her… In any case, April was far too excited about seeing her best friend again to question how she'd known she was there. The two of them all but tackled each other, hugging and shrieking in sheer happiness as Michelle stood by and remarked wryly, "Well, there go all our eardrums." April had ignored her.

Jessi insisted on dragging April out of the house, out to Cannery Row—typical tourist place, filled with little shops and cute restaurants, but Jessica had always loved that sort of place, and when they were in high school she used to drag April out there at least one weekend a month, just to walk down the street, go shopping, or simply wander…

As the two of them walked down Cannery Row for the first time in over two years, Jessica talked, saying the same old things she'd used to say years ago. "This isn't just some tourist place, April. Don't roll your eyes at me like that. There's _history_, right here, all around us." She pointed to a house up the street. "Look there, see? Steinbeck used to live right up there. You ought to _appreciate_ that, you're a writer…"

April grinned. "I know, but I grew up here, silly. Just like you. I've heard all this a million times."

Jessica stuck her tongue out. "You're no fun at all, April. Truly, no fun at all." But she smiled every time she looked at her. "Let's go to the aquarium. Watch the sea otters." She grinned. "Play in the tide pools. It'll be fun."

"You never did grow up, did you?" April asked with a faint smile. "I swear, you're still… like… fifteen."

Jessica waved a hand dismissively. "So? Who wants to grow up?" She grabbed April's hand and pulled her up the street, towards the aquarium. "Come on, if you at least act like you're having fun, I'll buy you a stuffed animal."

April couldn't help but smile. "You know I always have fun with you, Jessi. Even when you're acting completely insane."

"Oh, I know. It's part of my charm."

* * *

Roger walked into Josh's apartment without even knocking, over half an hour after he said he'd be there. Michael looked up and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Well, finally…"

Josh glared at him. "Where the hell have you been? We've been waiting forever, and—Where's your guitar?" His annoyed expression became even more irritated and a little questioning.

"I'm not practicing today," Roger told him, glancing briefly to the other two. "And I won't be around for a while. Just thought I ought to let you know."

"What the…? Where are you going to be if you're 'not around?'" Josh demanded.

"California. Monterey." Roger took an odd sort of satisfaction in watching the emotion in Josh's eyes shift from confusion to realization to anger.

"This is about your goddamn girlfriend isn't it? You've been fucking unbearable all week, just because she split without telling you, and now you're going to leave us to go chasing after her? Whatever happened to loyalty to your friends? Just because some bitch—"

Roger had started for the door, ignoring Josh's rant, but now he turned around to face him slowly. "Josh. First of all, I don't like you. I tolerate you. You are not my friend. Second, you ever say that about April again and I swear I'll kick your ass." Josh gaped at him, but couldn't find a response. Roger turned back to the door. "I'm going. I'll call when I get back." He closed the door behind him and hurried downstairs to the beat-up old car parked just outside, everything he would need for a cross-country drive already in the car.

That afternoon, when he got home, Mark found a torn-out sheet of notebook paper on the kitchen table, with Roger's almost illegible handwriting.

_Took the car, left for California. Don't know when I'll be back.—Roger_


	17. Like Driving North

**Chapter Seventeen: Like Driving North  
**_Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.—Franklin Roosevelt_

"They're both insane," Maureen muttered. "I mean, Roger's _more_ insane, but…"

Benny shrugged. He, Mark and Collins sat on the couch, Maureen on the futon. The table seemed empty without Roger sitting cross-legged on top of it, as did the windowsill without April reclining there with her notebook. "You know how the two of them are. One of them does something crazy and impulsive, and the other one just _has_ to follow."

"Well, except for—" Mark began, and stopped abruptly when he saw the pointed glare Maureen shot him. Right. He'd forgotten they weren't talking about that. Collins noticed the sudden silence, and gave both Mark and Maureen an inquiring look, but he didn't ask. No one spoke for a while, Mark quietly watching the others before he asked, "Should we… maybe call April? Let her know Roger's coming?"

Maureen shrugged. "I don't see how it'll do any good. Besides, knowing Roger, he'd want to surprise her." When Benny raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "Don't ask. Just let it be a surprise."

"Besides which," Mark commented, "Roger took the paper with the phone numbers."

"It's not just this," Collins said with a sigh. "The two of them are… different, these past few months. I know you've all noticed. Usually, even when Roger's an asshole, he's tolerable. Now he's just an ass. And April…"

"Something's getting to her," Benny said softly. "She's quieter. There's something big she's not talking about. I don't like seeing her like this. She's like our little sister, and if there's something hurting her… we should know."

"Even if it's Roger who's the problem?" Collins asked pointedly.

Benny's mouth tightened a little. "Especially if Roger's the problem."

As the other two spoke, Mark locked eyes with Maureen, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side. They should tell. If the other two knew, they could do something. Maureen shook her head quickly, glaring at him, and Mark sighed. She had to make things difficult, didn't she?

The entire interaction didn't go unnoticed by Collins, silent though it was. He glanced between the two of them and finally asked, "Do you two… know something?"

Maureen gave Mark a warning look. Mark glanced to Maureen, then back to Collins and blurted out, "Roger's using heroin."

"_Mark_!" Maureen shouted. "You weren't supposed to… I can't believe you…"

She trailed off as Collins turned to look at her, his expression suddenly both grim and concerned. "You knew about this."

"I… well… yes," she admitted guiltily. "There wasn't anything I could do about it, and…"

"You should have told me, done _something_…" He sighed. "And April knows?"

Maureen nodded. "She told me about it. Sort of."

Mark winced and avoided meeting Collins' eyes. "I meant to talk to him about it. I just… never really got around to it. Doubt he'd have listened to me anyway."

"No," Benny said, frowning. "He wouldn't. How could we not notice? I mean… heroin does things. Even if he's almost never around lately… we would've seen needle marks, something…"

"Most of the time Roger doesn't come home when he's high," Mark said, staring blankly out the window. "Unless it's really late. And most of the time when he's around he wears a jacket. Even when it's hot out."

"But he can't wear a jacket all the time. We should have seen—"

Mark looked up at him, blue eyes somewhat pained. "You didn't see because you weren't looking. There are track marks."

Benny bit his lower lip and looked down. Collins hesitated, watching the other three thoughtfully. "When Roger gets back… I'll talk to him. See what I can do."

"Thank you," Mark murmured softly.

* * *

Roger stopped the car off the highway just past San Simeon, where he finally reached the coast. Looking out over the ocean, he leaned against the car and just stood there for five, ten minutes, thoughtful. He couldn't believe he was here, really. Hell, he'd never been to the west coast in his life, and now he left the city just because April…

His hands were shaking. That was mostly the reason he'd stopped the car. That and the constant ache in his bones and joints, the waves of nausea every now and then… Almost three days without a hit and… it hurt. A lot. Roger sighed.

_Come on. Another half a day of driving, Big Sur, Monterey… Not that much further. I can do this._

He could. Just get in the car and… drive. Ignore the shaking hands, the pain… He could manage that. With a sigh, he opened the car door and got in, turned the key in the ignition and sped out onto the highway once more. Driving north, towards Monterey, towards April…

To his left, the ocean spread out, dark blue and little white wavelets reaching out to the horizon where it merged with the lighter blue of the sky, clear and completely cloudless overhead. Now and then, even with the sound of the wind and the radio, he could hear the sound of the ocean, waves crashing loudly against land. Hugging the curves of the highway as it followed the coastline, Roger kept his eyes on the road, but his thoughts were elsewhere. April belonged in a place like this. Open and bright and free like this… Like her. What the hell was she ever doing in New York City? He shook his head and made himself concentrate on the road.

When he reached Monterey several hours later, he had some trouble finding the address April had left him, and when he found the right place, he sat there in his car for a moment, just staring at the house. It was clean and far too neat and… everything the loft wasn't, essentially. At last, he stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door, stood there for a moment before ringing the doorbell. He had to wait for almost a minute before someone opened the door—a couple of girls, twins by the look of it. Roger blinked down at them.

"Uh… I'm…" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm Roger Davis. I'm April's… friend. Is she here?"

The two girls exchanged a look and giggled. Roger just stared at them, completely unable to grasp what they found amusing. Then again, teenage girls were odd. He remembered that much just from being around Mark's sister and her friends in high school. "Not right now," one of them said.

"She's at Jessica's house," the other continued, still grinning at him.

"Oh. Okay." Roger hesitated a moment. "How… how far away is Jessica's house?"

The first girl pointed down the street. "Only a block or two that way. It's the white one with the green paint on the door and window frames."

"Alright. Uh… thank you." He turned and walked back to his car, trying not to be unnerved by the twins' giggles behind him.


	18. I Need to Laugh Like a Child

**Chapter Eighteen: I Need to Laugh Like a Child  
**_Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy… With it, earth is heaven, and we are gods.—R. G. Ingersoll_

* * *

April and Jessica sat curled on the couch together, April's head resting on Jessi's shoulder, just grateful for the familiarity of touch. She'd forgotten how much she missed it with her Jessi. Today, Jessica had designated as a movie day. She used to do this all the time, rent anywhere from two to five movies, usually running along some theme (a theme sometimes only comprehensible to Jessi), and drag April over to watch them with her. April reflected with a smile that Jessica and Mark should meet some time. They'd get along well. Maybe if she could talk Jessi into visiting New York in a while…

Today, the theme was old movies—Casablanca, that sort of thing. April and Jessica had pulled the curtains to shut out the world, got some popcorn and milk, and just sat together watching their movies, just like they would have years ago. And then came a knock at the door.

Jessica sighed and got up to pause the movie. "I'll get it," she said with some annoyance, and walked down the hallway to the front door. April stayed on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring pensively at the television. She heard Jessi's voice, though she couldn't make out words, then a man's voice. Familiar, but it couldn't be…

Jessica walked back into the living room and quirked an eyebrow at April, jerking her head towards the door. "It's for you."

April frowned at her and stood up, starting down the hallway. "What, did Chris come over to—" She stopped as she rounded the corner and came into sight of the open door. Roger stood there, looking decidedly more nervous than she had ever seen him before. She spoke before thinking. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Not the most encouraging greeting he could have hoped for. He winced a little, but it didn't seem to discourage him much. "April, I wanted to apologize for being—"

"An ass?"

He grimaced at her blunt phrasing, but at last admitted, "Well… yes."

"And you couldn't have called to tell me that?" She folded her arms over her chest, glaring at him without coming any closer. Had he seriously driven across the country just to apologize?_ Dear God, I'm dating a complete lunatic. Or else it's sweet and a little pathetic…At the moment, it's hard to tell._

"Well, I guess I could have," he answered slowly. "But if I just called, would you have listened to me?"

She hesitated. "No, I don't think so. What makes you think I'm listening to you now?"

Roger watched her for a moment, taking in the stubborn set of her jaw, the lifted eyebrows, her arms crossed over her chest. After a second, his eyes flickered past her to land on Jessica, standing just behind April. Jessica smirked a little, and Roger found it impossible to tell if that smirk was malicious or merely amused. "I take it you're Roger. April's told me a lot about you." Roger eyed her warily; that sounded almost ominous.

April elbowed Jessica gently in the ribs. "Jessi. Stop." Sometimes her friend took it in her head to be intimidating and protective, but now was not the time. She turned her attention back to Roger. "I'm still waiting for an answer."

He seemed to have forgotten the question. "An answer to…?"

April sighed. "What makes you think I'll listen to you any more here than I would if you'd just stayed in New York and called me?"

"At least you'll have to tell me to my face that you won't forgive me."

"Roger."

"Okay, I don't _know_. I just… If you're going to hate me, I'd like you to tell me while you're standing in front of me."

"I don't hate you, Roger," she said quietly, and at last stepped forward to take his hand. It was shaking. April studied his face quietly for a minute or two, and finally said, "You're all _here_, aren't you?"  
Somehow he understood what she meant, and he smiled wryly. "Yeah, and it fucking hurts."

"Doesn't surprise me," she said calmly, deciding not to remark that it was his fault he was in pain in the first place. "You want some aspirin?"

"Think that'll help?"

She shrugged. "Can't hurt." April glanced over her shoulder at Jessica and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if she minded if Roger came in. Jessica tilted her head to one side and beckoned Roger inside; still holding his hand, April pulled him inside, towards the living room. "Come on, we're watching movies."

Once in sight of the living room, Roger took one look at the television and glanced down to April, grinning. "You came all the way out here to watch old movies? You could've done that at home with Mark."

She laughed and punched him in the arm playfully. "Well if you're going to be sarcastic…"

He took a step away from her, holding his arm and feigning injury. "Hey, hey… Ow!"

April only grinned at him. "Since when are you that delicate?"

"Children," Jessi drawled with a patient smile as she went to turn the movie back on, and April and Roger sat on the couch. "Play nice."

* * *

Jessica had decided that they needed ice cream and gone to the kitchen to dig some out of the freezer, leaving Roger and April on the couch together, April alongside Roger, holding his hand as she laced and unlaced their fingers quietly. She didn't say anything until Roger commented softly, "I met your sisters this afternoon."

She blinked. "You met… oh dear. What did they do?"

"Nothing, actually. They're the ones who told me you were over here. Nice girls. Maybe we could… take the two of them out tomorrow? To the beach or something?"

April stared at him for a moment, then smiled and shook her head. "Oh no. You don't want to do that. Not with my sisters."

Roger gave her an inquiring look. "Why, are they demon-spawn or something?"

She chuckled. "When they're not supervised by responsible adults, they are."

"We're responsible adults!" She shot him a look, and he amended, "_You're_ a responsible adult!"

That made her laugh, and she shook her head a little. "They will be absolute terrors. You really don't want to have to deal with them for a day."

"Oh, come on. They can't be that bad. They seemed nice enough when I met them… We could just take them out for a couple hours."

"You have no idea what you're getting into."

Jessica bounced back into the living room, trying to balance three bowls of ice cream at once, and she quickly handed two of the bowls to the other two before flopping down on the couch beside April. "Oh, come on, 'Ril, couldn't hurt him to spend a day with the terrors. Besides, they're a lot older than when we used to babysit them. Can't be all that bad." She grinned at the skeptical look April gave her. "I could come with you, if you want. You know, since you're not sure the two of you can handle a couple of thirteen-year-olds on your own."

April sighed and lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine. You two are impossible. We'll take the twins out to the beach tomorrow."

Roger smiled at her. "Everything's a worst case scenario for you. They'll have fun. We'll have fun."

"Tell me that tomorrow," April said with a grin, dropping her head against Roger's shoulder.

The next day, Roger was a little too distracted to remind her of that. The trip to the beach wasn't quite so bad—Jessica, Gabrielle and Michelle stayed in the water the whole time, acting like children half their age (or, in Jessica's case, a third her age), while April had to convince Roger to get in the water once he discovered the temperature.

"April," he complained, "the water's cold. It shouldn't be cold in June."

She rolled her eyes. "It's Monterey, Roger. Northern California. It's always cold. Stop being a ninny and get in the water." He finally conceded and stepped in; after a while, he even stopped complaining, though he did say that it was only because he was going numb.

On the drive home, however… "Michelle, please sit on the towel. You're getting my car—"

"I'm Gabrielle."

"Oh, sorry. Gabrielle, please try not to get my car all—"

"What?"

"That _is_ Michelle."

He sat there for a moment, and then shot Michelle a look in the rearview mirror. "I'm keeping my eye on you," he said warningly, which only made all four of the girls giggle. He sighed and looked away from the mirror to the road in front of him. "There's sand _everywhere_. I'm never going to get my car clean again."

"That's what happens when you go to the beach," April said with a smile. "You get sand everywhere."

"Well… yeah… but…"

"Your idea, remember?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You just love rubbing that in, don't you?"

She laughed. "Yeah, kind of."

Roger just rolled his eyes and muttered once more under his breath as he braked for a stoplight, "Never going to get my car clean."

April shoved him gently. "Stop whining about it. You're obsessive about this car, I swear."

He smiled and caught her hand in one of his, pulling her towards him to kiss her on the lips while the twins both squealed and Jessica made cat calls. April twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back quite happily until Jessica shouted from the back, "Roger! Green light!" He released her and turned his attention back to the road, grinning, while April sat back in her chair, smiling faintly herself.

Gabrielle leaned forward in her seat to ask April, "So, is he a good kisser?"

April stared at her open-mouthed. "Gabby!"  
Michelle chuckled and leaned forward too. "Well?"

Jessica couldn't resist asking, "Yeah, April, is he?"

April laughed out of sheer disbelief. "You three are… just…" She glared at Roger, who was watching her and trying not to laugh. "You! Eyes on the road, mister!"


	19. Open Road

**Chapter Nineteen: Open Road  
**_It is good to have an end to journey towards; but it is the journey that matters in the end.—Ursula K. Le Guin_

"April, please don't make me go in there." Roger and April had stopped just outside the door of April's parent's house, Roger giving April a pleading look. "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not?" she asked, knowing full well the answer. She'd asked Roger over to have dinner with her parents and Chris while the twins were spending the night with one of their friends, and she had rather expected some resistance. Actually, she'd anticipated a bit more opposition than this last-minute protest…

"Parents don't usually like me," he said simply, and April grinned.

"Hmm, I wonder why… Oh, don't give me that look, I'm kidding. Besides, you can't back out now. They're expecting you. Now come on." She opened the front door, put her hand flat against his back, and shoved him inside before he could protest. He almost ran into Chris, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs right before April opened the door. The two men just watched each other for a moment, and April grinned upon realizing that Chris stood a couple inches taller than Roger. It wasn't often Roger had to look up to meet someone's eyes.

After a second Roger extended his hand to shake, not quite as outwardly nervous as he had been before, but still a little tense to April's eyes. "Hi, I'm Roger Davis."

"Chris. April's brother. Nice to meet you."

"You too," Roger said, even as he cast April a sideways glance that plainly asked, _Can I please leave now?_ It was all April could do not to dissolve into laughter.

* * *

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" April asked Roger as the two of them walked out to Roger's car. "You survived."

Roger didn't say anything for a moment, and at last he said, "I think your brother actually _threatened_ me."

"He did _not_!" April said with a smile, and then hesitated, reconsidering that automatic objection. "Did he?"

"When you were out of the room." Roger glanced over at her, and gave her a wry smile. "The standard older brother warnings, but somehow it's a lot more convincing coming from him."

"Chris isn't scary," April protested.

"Yeah, not to you. You're his sister. He doesn't threaten you with serious bodily harm." As he reached the car, he pulled open the car door, but didn't get in yet, turning to face her. Roger didn't quite want to go back to the cheap hotel room he was renting while he stayed out here, not just yet. He took her hand gently and leaned down to kiss her briefly, meeting her eyes when he stepped back.

"You almost ready to come home? I know the others are probably missing you back there, and I know that you miss them. And the city too. I mean, _I_ miss it, so I'd guess that you..." He fell silent for a moment. "Besides, I miss having you beside me when I wake up. I miss falling asleep next to you. I just… wish you could…"

She nodded. "I know. I think I might be ready to go home soon. Tomorrow, the day after that… Soon." She kissed him, and smiled up at him brightly. "You're going to drive me home, right?"

"Absolutely." He released her hand and got into the car, looking up at her. "Say the word and we'll go, as soon as you want to."

* * *

"_Do you know the way to Santa Fe?_" Roger hummed softly, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road ahead.

April looked up from the map. "You're not going to stop humming that, are you?"

He glanced over at her, grinned. "No. I like the song."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's not the song. It's 'Do you know the way to San Jose.'"

"But we're not going to San Jose," he said, looking back to the road, just a path of black pavement and white lines that wound off to the horizon through the red-tinted desert landscape. There weren't any of the familiar cacti along the side of the road, but some cactus-like plants that were close enough to it. Anyway, it didn't look like what Roger would think a desert would, not flat and open straight to the horizon, but dramatic ridges, cliffs, mesas. And there wasn't another car on the highway, just him and April and the open sky.

"We should be there by midnight," April said after a while, staring out the window.

"Huh?"

"Santa Fe. We should be there by midnight. Maybe before."

Roger nodded. "Beautiful. We'll make it before then."

She smiled. "I'm sure we will, with you driving eighty miles an hour..."

"Well, there's no one to catch me all the way out here," he answered with a cocky smirk.

"Just as long as you don't get us both killed."

"Come on, I know better than that."

April just shook her head, still smiling a little, and fell silent, her forehead pressed against the car window as she sat there with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. At last, she commented, "Sunset's pretty over the mountains like that."

"It is," he said quietly. After a minute or two, he said, "Maybe I ought to move out here some time." He saw her questioning look out of the corner of his eye, and half-turned to smile at her. "It's nice out here. And at least it wouldn't be too cold like it is back home. Wouldn't have to spend another winter without heat…"

She didn't say anything for some time, and finally looked over at him, smiling almost shyly. "If you do move out here, eventually… can I come with you?"

Roger returned her smile, taking his eyes from the road to look over at her. "Of course you can, angel. Wouldn't dream of leaving you behind."


	20. When Your Heart Has Expired

**Chapter Twenty: When Your Heart Has Expired  
**_The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.—Gilbert K. Chesterton_

April all but bounced into the loft, eager to see all of the others again. Roger followed a step or two behind her. "We're home!" she said cheerfully, loudly enough to be heard through the whole loft, and rather hoping that someone would be home. She was in luck—all three of the boys were home, though since Maureen didn't immediately pounce on her once she stepped in, April assumed that she must be elsewhere at the moment.

"April!" She heard Mark's voice before she saw him, but in a second he stepped out of his bedroom and rushed forward to hug her happily. "Took you long enough. And you didn't call or… or…"

"He's been worried about you," Benny commented wryly, grinning at April. "Convinced something had happened to you since you didn't call. Then again, I was a little worried about you too. Well… worried about _you_, April. I don't particularly care if something happens to Roger." Roger sneered at him and otherwise ignored the comment.

"I'm fine, Mark," April said with a smile. "We just took our time driving home. Decided to go through the southwest instead of cutting straight across to New York… It's pretty down there, you know. And it was fun."

"You still should've called," he said, hugging her tightly once more before releasing her.

"I'll remember that next time," she responded, trying not to laugh at his concern. It was actually kind of touching that he was so concerned about her. At least Chris wouldn't have to worry that she was being taken care of, with "older brothers" like Mark to watch over her. And Tom and Benny of course… "I'm gonna go and put my stuff away, then I'll tell you guys all about California." She disappeared into her bedroom, and for a moment none of the boys spoke.

Collins had been silent until then, but now looked to Roger. "Hey Roger, can I talk to you real quick?"

Guessing what Tom was going to say, Benny winced. It probably wasn't the best idea to bring this up _right_ when Roger got home… Then again, Tom knew what he was doing. Most of the time. And he certainly knew how to deal with Roger better than Benny did… Benny didn't say anything, just watched silently, certain that something unpleasant was about to happen. He glanced briefly at Mark, who had a similar expression of nervous tension, like watching an impending train wreck just before it actually happened.

Collins beckoned Roger into his "bedroom", the walled-off section of the living room that he'd claimed as his own since he'd been unintentionally crowded out of the other bedroom, and lowered his voice so that the others couldn't hear him, just Roger. "Roger, I want you to know that you're one of my best friends, you're part of my family, and I'm only doing this because I care about you, okay?"

Roger eyed him warily. Whenever Collins started talking like that, it generally meant something disagreeable was to follow. "Okay…" He sat down on the edge of Collins' bed, still looking up at him with a measure of suspicion. Whatever he was going to say, Roger was fairly certain he didn't want to hear it.

He was right.

"Roger, I know you've been using some serious drugs," Collins said softly. Roger stiffened immediately, but Collins went on before he could be interrupted. "I found some of your…the stuff you've been hiding, in your room. Now I'm not going to tell you what to do, because I know you, and I know you'll just blow me off if I try, but… You're smarter than this, Roger. You can pretend otherwise, but you are. What you're doing is _dangerous_, and I don't want to see you risking everything you have for this… for whatever reason you feel like you need it."

Roger had balled his hands into fists as Collins spoke, and the simple fact that he hadn't interrupted him seemed a miracle—probably simple respect for Collins had kept him silent whereas had it been anyone else he would have started shouting before they'd gotten out more than the first sentence. As it was, he barely waited until Collins was done to burst out, "How the _hell_ is this any of your business?" He didn't even bother pitching his voice low as Collins had to keep the others from hearing. Outside the "room," Mark and Benny exchanged a look—they'd kind of expected it to go like this.

"I'm not an idiot, Collins. I don't need your advice, I don't need you to play older brother or whatever the hell you're doing. I can take care of _myself_." He stood up, his hands still in fists, so close to Collins that the two of them were nearly nose-to-nose, but Collins didn't step backwards to move away from him. "You _found_ my… What the hell were you doing in my room in the first place? You don't have the _right_ to… to just go rummaging through _my_ things just because you think that—"

"I told you, Roger, I only did it because I care about you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Hurt how?" Roger snapped. "I don't need you to shelter me, Collins. I don't need your help." He stood there for a second more, then turned and stalked away, shoving aside one of the blankets that formed the bedroom walls so hard that he almost yanked it down unintentionally. As he did, April stepped out of her own bedroom, glancing worriedly from Roger to Collins, and then to the other two—Benny sitting on the couch, Mark standing near it—both of whom simply watched awkwardly, somewhere between distressed and thankful that they weren't the ones in the path of Roger's anger.

"What happened?" April asked at last. The question wasn't really necessary. She'd probably heard Roger from the other room anyway.

"Nothing," Roger growled, and stalked past her into the bedroom.

* * *

Three days after they'd gotten home, April was starting to grow tired of the way Roger kept shooting glares at Collins any time he caught the other man so much as looking at him. She decided not to say anything about it, though. It made thing easier if she just pretended she didn't see, didn't know… And if she ignored the fact that some time between when they got home and now, fresh track marks had appeared on Roger's arms. So long as she pretended they weren't there, they might as well not exist.

_Yeah,_ she thought with a sigh._ Nice try, April Shower._ She'd even picked up the boys' nickname when speaking to herself, it seemed… Well, it didn't hurt anything, and sometimes the nickname seemed all too applicable. Like now, when she felt… overcast, gloomy. Not quite stormy, just… drizzly. April showers.

She glanced around the living room thoughtfully. All six of them were here, home, but it was still oddly quiet. Almost frightening, that quiet, but then again, Roger refused to speak to Collins, and Tom had all but given up trying to talk sense into Roger. The others had been tiptoeing around them for the past few days, trying not to get in the middle of it, so April found it a small wonder that everyone was quiet for once.

In that silence, the phone rang. Mark and April both jumped, and everyone else looked up. No one went to answer it just yet, waiting for the machine to pick up. All calls in the loft were screened, and for good reason—April had once picked up the phone without thinking and ended up holding a two and a half hour conversation with Mark's mother. All in all, it was better to wait it out.

The phone rang several times before the answering machine picked up. The message ran, and then Chris' voice came on the machine, sounding agitated. "April? Are you there? I need to talk to you, so—"

"I've got it!" April called quickly, and jumped for the phone. "Chris! I'm here, what is it?"

There was a surprised silence for a second or two, then, "Oh, you're… Hi. I wasn't expecting you to pick up just now…" Still that agitated voice, setting April on edge. Chris didn't get upset over small things, and he clearly _was_ upset now.

"What's going on, Chris?" she demanded, her voice a little sharper.

"Jessica… was in an accident last night. There was a car crash, and… she…"

April drew a breath. "But she's okay, isn't she? She's gotta be okay." It occurred to her that if Jessi were okay, she'd probably be telling April herself. So… April's knees suddenly felt as if they might not support her.

"April, it was a really bad accident. Jessi… Jessica died this morning. She lost too much blood, and they couldn't do anything to… I'm sorry, sis."

She barely heard him, suddenly numb. No. No, she couldn't… "Okay," she found herself saying numbly, her own voice sounding distant and strained. "Thank you for… for telling me."

"Wait, April, are you—"

April hung up the phone, no longer really listening to him. She walked to the couch and sat down next to Maureen, staring blankly at the opposite wall as she tried to process… Chris couldn't be right. Not Jessica. She was invincible, she was… she…

The others were watching her, worried, and Mark asked after a second or two, "April? What happened?"

The question didn't quite register. "She promised to visit. She told me she'd come up here and see us… Oh God." April drew her knees up to her chest, curled herself into as tiny a ball as possible, and burst into tears.

Maureen quickly put her arms around her, and Roger all but vaulted off the table, almost instantly beside her on the couch. April didn't even move, just let Maureen pull her close, stroking her hair and murmuring softly without even knowing what was wrong. Roger put a hand on her shoulder, and the others rushed over, too close, so close she couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. April didn't want to breathe, didn't want to feel, didn't want to…

Her chest hurt, her lungs hurt, her heart… God, her heart. Through ragged sobs, she whimpered, "She promised me she'd never leave, she _swore_ when we were fourteen that she'd never go away and… and…"

Roger gently pulled her away from Maureen and tried to get her to face him. April uncurled and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and still murmuring incoherently about Jessi. "April-baby," Roger said gently, "none us can understand a word you're saying."

She lifted her head and tried to speak, but it all came out in gasping sobs, too fast and not at all comprehensible. Tom touched her arm lightly. "April, take a deep breath before you hyperventilate. Just breathe…" Somehow his deep, soothing voice got through to her, and April slowed her breathing with erratic gulping breaths, her dizziness fading a little. After a while Tom asked gently, "Can you talk now?" She nodded.

"I think so." Her voice still sounded barely more than a whimper, just barely under control, and the other seemed to realize that, because for a while no one said anything, afraid to set her off with some careless word.

Mark spoke first, very cautiously. "Can you tell us what's the matter? If you're not able to, then don't, but…"

April didn't move, didn't speak for a minute or two, just clinging to Roger and shaking. "Chris, he… he said…" She sat there for several more seconds, her eyes unfocused, and at last whispered, "Jessica… Jessi was in a car crash." She felt Roger tense against her, and almost couldn't go on, but managed to force out softly, "I lost her. Promised she'd never leave and she's… gone."

Wordlessly, Roger pulled her closer to him, cradling her like a small child. She shuddered and huddled against him, shaking uncontrollably.

"She was… she was my sister, my… my Jessi. If I lost her… I don't know… I can't…" April pressed her face to Roger's shoulder once more, unable to say anything else. Roger frowned at the others and waved them away silently before wrapping his arms around her again. Mark, Collins and Benny backed away, but Maureen just glared at him and took April's hand gently, refusing to move away from her. Roger gave her an annoyed look, but quickly turned his attention back to April, kissing her forehead.

"I know it hurts, baby," he murmured softly. "Cry as much as you want—we're not going anywhere."

"Never?" April asked through tears, her voice muffled against Roger's shoulder, but somehow they still understood her. Maureen squeezed her hand.

"Never. You won't lose us."

April curled against Roger, clinging to Maureen's hand with both of hers, and cried until she exhausted herself, until she fell asleep there in Roger's arms.


	21. Before the Sun Sets

**Chapter Twenty-One: Before the Sun Sets  
**_The gods do not protect fools. Fools are protected by more capable fools.—_Ringworld_, Larry Niven_

Roger tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the car with the beat of the constant music that blasted from the speakers, staring at the road straight ahead of him. April would be almost off work by now; he'd have to go pick her up, just like he always did whenever she had to work past dark. She hadn't been working much lately, though… After she found out about Jessica, she'd had to take over a week off work, and that was after she'd been in California for so long… She was lucky she still_ had_ a job at this point.

Still, working was good for her. Kept her mind off of things, the way little else could. God knew Roger had tried, whenever she was around, but her dark mood persisted, as did the random bouts of tears… Just knowing that she was hurt and he couldn't do anything bothered him. Enough that his arms now had far too many fresh track marks on them, marks April never noticed, too caught up in her own stress, and who could blame her? Enough that the newest of those marks was barely an hour old. April wasn't the only one who needed to keep her mind off of things… just handled it in a different way.

He sighed, then growled under his breath and hit the brake as he hit his third red light in a row. Damn it. At this rate, he wouldn't make it to the diner by the time April got off work. He drummed his palms against the wheel quietly, humming to himself, and waited impatiently for the light to turn green. This was taking much too long… When it finally turned green, he hit the gas hard and sped forward, whipping easily around another, slower-moving car. Should take… ten more minutes until he reached the diner. He glanced to the clock on the dashboard of the car, the numbers on the display glowing electric green in the dark. He'd still be a little late. He swore under his breath. Of course he had to keep April waiting, even if completely by accident…

He didn't look up soon enough, and missed the next stoplight, also red. He blew through it—and in an instant another car slammed into the driver's side of Roger's car with a crash of metal, shattering glass, and immediate pain. Roger slammed forward against the steering wheel, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, the seatbelt cutting into his chest. Pain blackened his vision, and everything around him screeched to a halt. When he could see again, he grimaced and leaned forward, resting his head against the steering wheel—and immediately decided better of it at the sharp pain in his chest. He sat back once more, and carefully unbuckled the seat belt, trying to breathe through the pain. It wasn't easy.

A woman rushed up to the window on the driver's side—it had been open—and asked, "Oh my God, are you alright?"

Roger almost laughed at the question out of sheer surprise, but given that he could barely breathe without some sort of pain, he fought down the laughter. "I think so. Except… my chest hurts." He glanced at the driver's side door and winced. It was crushed inward, that entire side of the car… He doubted he'd be able to even open the door. "Shit, my car…" And less than a month ago he'd been worried about April's sisters getting _sand_ in it…

"Hang on, I'm calling 911," the woman said, and Roger nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. Just breathe, in and out… Ignore those shooting pains in his chest. A few scrapes too, bleeding, but not much. Nothing big, he'd survive. He found himself thinking irrelevantly that now he'd _definitely_ be late to see April, and wondering how long it would take her to realize something had happened when he didn't show up.

He stayed that way, eyes closed and leaning back, trying to breathe, until he heard sirens and opened his eyes again. Ambulance… paramedics… Lovely. One of the paramedics hurried to his side of the car and tried to open the door—as Roger had half-expected, it only opened an inch or two, then stopped with a creaking protest of metal. The paramedic paused for a moment, and then wrenched it fully open. Roger groaned softly. "The car's completely totaled, isn't it?"

The other man actually chuckled a little and beckoned a couple of other paramedics from the ambulance over to him. They were carrying a stretcher. "I'm afraid so. You hurt anywhere?"

"Chest hurts. Right… here." He pressed against his chest where the pain was, winced, and pulled his hand away.

"Probably a broken rib," the paramedic said as the others with the stretcher drew near. "We're gonna get you on this stretcher and take you to the hospital to check it out, okay?" He reached into the car to help Roger out, but Roger shoved him away a little and got out of the car on his own.

"I can stand up."

"But you probably shouldn't," the paramedic said, gently pushing him to sit down on the stretcher, then lay back, and Roger didn't fight with him, acquiescing with a minimum of resistance. "What's your name?" he asked Roger as they wheeled the stretcher to the ambulance. "Is there some place you'd like the hospital to call when we get there, tell them what happened?"

"Roger Davis. Could you… call my roommates and tell them? Make sure April's not the first one to know, though, if she picks up. She'll freak out."

They lifted him up into the ambulance, and the first paramedic grinned down at him. "I'll see what we can do." He started to fix an oxygen mask over Roger's face, but Roger pulled away a little.

"What's that for?"

"Just in case it's necessary. We're going to give you a general antibiotic to make sure none of those cuts get infected too… Don't worry about it." He put the oxygen mask on, this time without Roger protesting. "Everything's taken care of."

Roger sighed, grimaced as that produced another sharp jolt of pain, and closed his eyes, letting the paramedics do whatever the hell they were supposed to be doing without him worrying about it. He was a little more concerned about how April would react when she found out he'd been in a crash. After Jessica and everything…

The engine of the ambulance started, and they started moving, the thoroughly annoying sound of the siren in Roger's ears. As they drove, breathing became more difficult—not more painful, because the pain remained constant unless he took a particularly deep breath—just… difficult, as if his throat were suddenly constricting. He heard something rasping over the sound of the sirens, and realized it was his own breath, but somehow he wasn't too concerned about it. In a moment, the sound of sirens and his breathing was overridden by a sort of dull roaring in his ears, and one of the paramedics' voices, distantly, not loud enough to make out words, before he blacked out completely.

* * *

"April, I'm sure he's fine," Mark said gently, watching her as she paced across the living room. "He probably just got caught up with his band and forgot to call. I mean… It's Roger. He does this sort of thing all the time."

April stopped and turned to face him. "But he's never not been at the diner when he said he would. He'd have called and told me he was going to be late. Something."

Mark couldn't argue with that, and certainly couldn't very well reassure her. April returned to pacing, and Mark could only sigh and continue to watch her, wandering back and forth across the room, occasionally going to the window, turning away again…

"Oh, stop it, 'Ril," Maureen growled after watching her for a minute or two. She'd been sprawled on her back on the couch, but now propped herself up on her elbow to face April. "You act like it's not _normal_ for him to just disappear." She paused, and then muttered under her breath, "He's probably just getting high somewhere."

April heard, and glared at her. "Don't _even_—"

"Maureen," Collins said warningly.

Both of the girls fell into a slightly embarrassed silence, though Maureen muttered grudgingly, "I'm just saying…"

"And no one wants to hear it," April said sharply. Coming from her, that tone surprised everyone, and for a moment nobody spoke or moved, April glaring at Maureen, the other four watching April warily.

When the phone rang, Benny picked it up without even waiting for the machine to screen it. Anything to break the tension—even, if necessary, a long conversation with Mrs. Cohen if she happened to be the one calling. "Hello?"

April glared at Maureen a moment longer, then turned and stalked to the windowsill while Benny listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. It took April and the others a minute to realize that Benny's expression had suddenly become absolutely serious.

"Alright, we'll get there as soon as we can," he said into the phone. "Thank you." As he hung up, he turned to face April, and she froze.

"April," Benny said slowly, "don't panic, okay?"

She stared at him for a second or two, terrified of what he would say. "What happened?"

"Roger was in an accident." April felt suddenly dizzy, started to stand up but had to sit down again right away. Mark muttered something that sounded like a curse and hurried over to April, taking her hand gently.

"He broke a rib in the crash, but they said other than that he wasn't hurt too badly. But…" Benny paused, just for a second, but long enough that April felt a brief moment of absolute panic. "He had an allergic reaction to the penicillin they gave him, and they've got him on a respirator. They want us over there at the hospital."

April jumped to her feet and started for the door without waiting for him to say another word, Mark right behind her. Maureen and Benny started to follow, but Collins stopped the two of them before they could get out the door. "We can't all go—it'll get too crowded. Mark, April and I will go; you two just… stay here. We'll call you if anything happens."

Maureen stared at him open-mouthed. "But… I…"

Collins shot her a look. "Maureen, _please_ stay." Before she could protest any more, he rushed out behind Mark and April, the door slamming behind him.


	22. Til You're Torn Apart

**Chapter Twenty-Two: 'Til You're Torn Apart  
**"_Life is full of grief, to exactly the degree we allow ourselves to love other people."—_Shadow of the Giant_, Orson Scott Card_

"How the hell could Roger not know he's allergic to penicillin?" Mark muttered as the three of them rushed down the stark white hallway in the hospital. Cold linoleum floors, the walls all white and pale green, supposed to be calming, and the smell of antiseptic all around, wholly unwelcoming. And where the hell was Roger in all of this? Mark shook his head and kept muttering himself, mostly to work off the nervousness. He'd left his camera at home, and his hands felt empty without something to do with them, but he could hardly bring the camera _here_, could he? "I mean, his mom's a _nurse_. I'll bet you anything the idiot did know he was allergic and just didn't think it was important enough to tell anyone. I swear I'm going to strangle him as soon as he's better."

Ordinarily, Mark threatening Roger would have been laughable, but none of them could find anything funny about it given the real fear and concern in Mark's voice, and how his face was much paler than usual, drained of all color. Walking beside him, April held her hand out to him, and he took it wordlessly, squeezing her hand in a half-hearted attempt to reassure her. "He'll be fine, April Shower. I promise. He's survived stupid things like this before, he's got to…" Mark trailed off and tried to smile. It came out weaker than he'd meant.

Collins stopped outside one particular room and turned to the other two. "This is the room. They said we could go right in. April, do you want us to go in with you, or would you rather go alone?"

She bit her lower lip, looking at the closed door of the room. The blinds on the windows were drawn so she couldn't see inside. "Could you two wait outside, please? For a minute or two, at least?"

Collins gave her a tight, strained smile. "Of course."

April let go of Mark's hand and went to open the door. She hesitated right in front of it, her hand on the knob, then sighed and pushed it open, stepping inside. She closed the door behind her.

Roger lay on the hospital bed, his eyes closed, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. She stood just inside the doorway for a moment, then slowly walked to the bed. He didn't open his eyes. They had a couple of machines hooked up to him, both beeping steadily. Steady heartbeat, steady breathing, normal she assumed, but still not conscious. He didn't look like her Roger, not like this. Even when he was sleeping he usually had some fire about him, that spark of unique Roger-ness. Now, though, she couldn't see that. Now… she couldn't quite see the life in him.

April cautiously touched his hand, and, of course, he didn't move. The doctors had told her he would be alright, that he would wake up soon and be fine, but… He didn't look like it. She stared at his face for a moment. He had a shallow cut along his cheek, no anything major, but she couldn't take her eyes off it. No life to his face, but that cut, bright red…

"Open your eyes, Roger, please," she whispered. "I just need you to tell me you're okay…"

She got no response, except for the steady beep of the machines, the slow rise and fall of his chest. No spark, no fire. Was that how Jessi had looked when she…?

April couldn't even finish the thought. Certainly couldn't stay here in this room with him, cold and _not Roger_. She had to get out. April let go of his hand, turned and rushed out the door, unsuccessfully trying to fight back tears. Mark and Collins both looked at her, startled, as she closed the door behind her and wiped the tears from her face with one hand.

"I… I think I need to go home," she said shakily. "I can't stay here."

Collins and Mark exchanged a look, and Tom said after a moment, "One of us needs to stay here. I'll take her home—you go in there and sit with Roger. Call us if anything changes."

Mark nodded as Tom stepped forward and gently put an arm around April's shoulders, starting to lead her back down the hallway towards the exit. She leaned against him gratefully, her cheek against his chest as they walked. Tom's support helped, yes, but… how much more of this could she take?

* * *

When she got home, April went straight to her room and locked the bedroom door behind her before Maureen and Benny could follow her to ask how Roger was. Alive. Stable. But she needed him awake, to tell her himself that he'd be okay. All the doctor's reassurances in the world couldn't stand in place of that, and until Roger returned to consciousness…

She sank down on the bed and pulled the blanket up around her, clutching it for whatever small comfort it could offer. "He'll be fine," she told herself quietly. "He will. The doctors said so, and Tom said so, and Mark… And he promised. He swore he wouldn't leave. He's gonna be okay."

But Jessi had promised too, and look where she was now, where they both were. Her Jessi, her baby, her heart-sister, was buried in some cemetery in Monterey, California, three thousand some miles away. Chris had told her—the funeral had been last week. And April, Jessi's star, April-love, beautiful girl, all the random nicknames she'd collected over the course of their friendship… Sitting here alone in an empty room, half-crying and clinging to a blanket, hoping and almost praying that her Roger wouldn't follow after her Jessi. She never prayed, but this time… Lost little girl, all alone without someone to hold her. If she'd just go out into the living room, the others would have held her, but she didn't want them. Not right now. Just Roger and Jessica, and they couldn't…

She couldn't think about this any longer. She needed something to… to distract her. _Anything_, damn it. Normally when she needed to be distracted she'd listen to one of Roger's tapes, the recordings of him singing, but now that would hardly do any good when it would only bring her back to the thing she was trying to forget about. She dropped the blanket back on the bed and stood up slowly, searching through the dresser silently. She didn't even really know what she was searching for until…

Her hand touched a razor, and she pulled it out slowly, staring at it in complete silence for almost a minute or two. What the hell was she doing? _Taking your mind off of Roger and Jessi for just a little while,_ she reminded herself. Right. Focus on something other than the fact that his best friend was dead and her boyfriend had come damn close to it.

Almost as if it were held by someone else's hand, April watched in morbid fascination as the razor traced a short, thin line across the inside of her arm, just below the bend of her elbow, and after a second blood welled up along the cut in tiny beads of red. A second cut, a third… She stopped herself after that, set the razor aside on the dresser and just watched as the blood rose to the surface of her skin, beaded, ran down the bend of her arm, and soon enough dried. At least the blood was some proof she was actually alive… Better than thinking about the lifelessness of Roger in the hospital, or the empty place in her life that Jessi had always filled. Far better.

April jumped when someone knocked on the door, and Collins' voice called, "April? Mark just called. Roger's awake. D'you want to go see him?"

"I… um… yes! I just… give me a minute, I'll be out in a second…" She grabbed the razor and hid it in the dresser drawer quickly, hunted through the closet for a sweatshirt and threw it on before unlocking the door and giving Collins a shaky smile. The falseness of it stung her, but he didn't seem to notice as she said, "Okay, ready. Let's go."


	23. Detach from Feeling Alive

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Detach from Feeling Alive  
**"_A man who embraces the voices of evil when it whispers in his ear is no less evil than the whisperer." – _Shadow of the Giant_, Orson Scott Card_

April held her breath as Tom pushed open the door to the hospital room where they were keeping Roger, unsure what she was afraid of seeing—he was awake, after all—but let out the breath when she stepped in, past Tom, and saw Roger awake and with the oxygen mask off, turning to look at her and Tom as they entered, and Mark in a chair beside the bed, quiet, not quite as pale as he'd been before but still clearly worried. She rushed over to the edge of the bed, tempted to hug him, but aware that that probably wasn't the best idea if he had a broken rib. Instead, she sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, her legs hanging over.

"Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk. "Yeah, it hurts. I broke a rib. It's not exactly _fun_…"

She clenched her jaw, irritated by the sarcasm in response to a simple question, but fought down her annoyance. "Well, I mean, aside from that. When I was in here before, you didn't look like… You didn't look so good."

Roger rolled his eyes. "I've gotten these questions about twenty times from Mark—" Mark looked at the ground at that, a little embarrassed— "and every single doctor or nurse who's been in here since I woke up. I'm fine. I wish you'd all just _believe_ me when I say so."

April sighed, trying to fight down her frustration. She didn't quite manage it, and snapped, "I'm sorry, Roger. You've got to expect people to be a little worried about you when you're stupid enough to get yourself almost _killed_. I talked to the doctors, Roger. You stopped _breathing_ for a while. I'm sorry if I'm a little concerned after hearing that, but you're just going to have to put up with it."

He stared at her in disbelief and annoyance, wordless for several seconds. He rubbed at his arms unthinkingly as he did so, and April flinched as she noticed that, only drawing her eyes away from his arms when he spoke again. "Are you actually… Are you _serious_? I almost got _myself_ killed? That car slammed into _me_, or didn't the doctors tell you that?"

For a second or two, April just watched him silently. Mark and Tom eyed her in concern, neither of them liking the turn of the conversation but uncertain how to interrupt. April's eyes flickered to Roger's arms again, back to his face… Her voice was quiet when she finally said, "You pulled out into the middle of an intersection. Through a red light. So either you just weren't thinking, or… Were you high? I don't suppose they'd have had the time to test for that while they were trying to keep you alive, would they?" She fought the urge to rub at her own arm through the sleeve of her sweatshirt. God, it _hurt_, and…

His expression darkened as he looked up at her, and he growled softly, "No, I wasn't." But he shifted his arms a little bit as he said so, so the others couldn't see the insides of his forearms. April saw, and pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. Damn it, he had been, and… She couldn't bring herself to push him any further on that point, though.

"So why didn't you tell them that you were allergic to penicillin before they gave it to you? Did you just not _know_, or…?"

"He knew," Mark said quietly from beside the bed. That earned him a glare from Roger, but Mark kept his eyes down, avoiding looking at either Roger or April. This entire conversation made him uncomfortable, and April could see it. She watched Mark for a moment before turning back to Roger.

Roger preempted her question before she could say anything. "I forgot to tell them. It didn't seem important at the time, and—"

April slid off the edge of the bed, stalking to the other end of the room. She couldn't sit beside him right now, not when she was tempted to just smack him for sheer idiocy. "Didn't seem _important_? Roger, were you even _listening_ to me before? Does any of this get through your head at all? You almost died. That's important, damn it!"

"But I didn't die," he said stubbornly. "I'm sitting right here, alive and to be perfectly honest getting annoyed that you won't stop lecturing me like a five year old. If you're not going to—"

April laughed, though it was a laugh with no humor to it at all. "A five year old has more common sense than you do, Roger.At least they know that red light means stop and green light means go. You scared me to death. The _last _thing I need after this past month is to get a phone call and hear that you've been in a car crash after my best friend…" She sighed and folded her arms over her chest, turning away from him. Her cuts stung as the sweatshirt sleeve rubbed against them. "I'm sorry, Roger, I can't stay here right now. Because if I do, I'm afraid I might have to smack you. When you can act your age, I'll talk to you again."

She stepped out the door before Roger could protest, and when Tom started to follow her, she waved him away. "I can get home by myself, Tom. I'll be fine." Arms still folded over her chest, her cuts stinging enough that she could feel the pain in time with the pulse of her heartbeat, April stalked down the hallway with her head bowed. She couldn't be sure, at the moment, whether she felt more upset with Roger or with herself.

* * *

"Mark, stop hovering over me." Roger gave his friend an irritated look over his shoulder as the two of them made their way up the stairs to the loft. "And you're going to make me hit you if you keep it up."

Mark sighed. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure you're alright… that you're not going to fall down the stairs or anything… I mean, you're still hurt, your rib's still..."

"Mark. I wasn't kidding about hitting you. They wouldn't have let me go if I weren't fine." He pushed open the front door of the loft and called out, "I'm back!"

Maureen had been searching through the cabinets for food, but now looked up and stared at Roger for a second. "Oh my God, you're alive!"

Roger stared back at her then smirked, replying in his most sarcastic tone, "Oh my God, I am!"

Walking into the loft past him, Mark gave Roger a look. "Don't be an ass, Roger. If you weren't injured, I'd smack you right now."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Sure you would, Mark." He strolled calmly to the table, started to jump up on it, and then winced and changed his mind as the movement produced a pain in his chest. "Okay, not doing that any time soon," he muttered, and looked to Maureen, leaning back against the table instead of sitting on it. "So where are the others?" By which he meant, mostly, _Where's April?_ He hadn't seen her since that last, unpleasant conversation in the hospital, if it could be called a conversation…

Maureen pulled a cup of yogurt out of the refrigerator and grabbed a spoon before sauntering over to the table. She paused for a moment beside him, considering pulling out a chair, but instead hopped up on the table right next to where he leaned against it, her legs dangling over the edge. "Collins and Benny went out together, I guess. Didn't tell me where—I was still in bed when they left. And 'Ril's at work. Don't know when she's coming back, but judging from how she's been working lately… shouldn't be back until late." She was silent for a moment, eating her yogurt, and then looked up at Roger, pulling the spoon out of her mouth. "So. You pulled out into the middle of an intersection, huh? What, d'you have a death wish or something? Or are you just an idiot? Oh, wait… never mind."

He sneered at her and pushed himself away from the table. "Fuck off, Maureen."

She smirked and watched him as he stalked off to his room. "Okay, _someone's_ in a bad mood… I suppose getting almost killed will do that to you, won't it?"

As Roger stepped into his room, he heard Mark say quietly, "Maureen, stop. Why can't you just leave him alone?"

And then Maureen's voice, cold and faintly irritable. "Because he's… He's hurting my April. No one's allowed to do that to her. Not even _him_."

"Your April?"

"She was my friend a long time before he even knew her. She's my April."

Roger closed the bedroom door behind him, but didn't lock it. No need to—Mark would knock before he came in, and Maureen made a point of never coming in his room if she could help it. And if April wasn't coming home soon… he had some time. He walked straight to the closet and pulled down a box from the shelf inside, above the coat rack. Inside the box, a needle, a little smack, a few other things—not much smack, but enough. A couple days in the hospital, not even a chance of getting a hit… He couldn't even remember how he'd managed it in California.

Somehow, as he prepared the needle, he didn't notice the voices in the living room—Maureen's, and someone else's… April's. His attention was elsewhere, on the needle, on anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he'd never be able to explain the accident to April, that when she came home the two of them would probably end up screaming at each other, just like at the hospital, but… worse. Better to forget that at least for the moment than to focus on it…

April walked in when he had the needle in his arm. He started as he looked up at her. She stared at him for a second, her mouth open in shock, and then quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. The two of them didn't move, April watching Roger, her eyes flickering over his face, and then lingering on his arm, the needle… He met her eyes steadily, waiting for her to say something, to shout at him, anything.

Instead, she stepped forward, towards the bed, self-consciously tugging down on one sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Does…" She trailed off for a second, looked away from him, and then back, to his face. "Does that really make you numb?"

He hesitated and pulled the needle out of his arm slowly. "For a while, yes."

April sat down on the bed beside him, her eyes still on his face. She still looked a little uncertain, but there was something odd to her expression too, something he couldn't quite place. "Then… could I have some? Please?"

Roger stared at her blankly, not sure he'd heard the question right. Did she seriously…? But her expression was completely serious, absolutely unwavering, and he couldn't exactly argue with her without sounding… hypocritical, at the least. Roger sighed and closed his eyes, his jaw tight as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was actually going to do this, to taint his angel. "I'll do it for you," he said quietly. "Show me your arm."

She pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt on her right arm and held it out to him, wordless. He took her gently by the wrist, sighed and met her eyes. "You're sure?"

Her mouth twisted into a bit of a grimace and she closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. "Just do it, Roger."

Roger nodded and looked down to her arm. The blue veins stood out all too clearly against her pale skin.


	24. Cynical Town Can be Tough on an Angel

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Cynical Town Can be Tough on an Angel  
**_"'Course I need to worry about you. We always worry about the people we love."—_Hero's Quest_, Tyroshaun  
_

Stepping out of the diner, April wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking into her now ever-present sweatshirt. Lately she hardly dared to go without it, between the cuts and track marks… At least only Roger knew about the track marks, and somehow not even he had noticed the cuts on her arms and thighs. How he had missed that, she didn't know, but she was grateful for it.

April hunched her shoulders and started down the street, her eyes on the sidewalk the whole time, her thoughts elsewhere. September 10th. Over a year since she'd moved into the loft, and look where she was now. Twenty-one years old today, and… "God, Jessi would be so upset with me if she knew what I've been doing," she muttered under her breath. "Happy birthday to me." Not a word from any of the others, not that that really surprised her. Still, she could have expected something from _someone_, just one word…

"Hey." April jumped as she heard Roger's voice behind her, and turned to face him.

"Roger, why do you always have to do that?" she demanded. "You scared me half to death!" She tried to glare at him, but it didn't quite work. This was the first time Roger had met her after work since his accident two months ago, and she hadn't even been expecting him…

He smiled at her, obviously able to see that she didn't mean the glare. "Because it's fun," he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "And I know you don't mean it when you yell at me for it."

She gave in and grinned up at him. "You know me too well." She hugged him quickly, careful not to squeeze too hard—she'd been careful about that since he broke his rib, though it was supposed to have mended by now. "So what made you decide to pick me up, hmm?You didn't even tell me you were coming…"

"Well, I can hardly let you walk home alone today, can I?" When she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow questioningly, Roger grinned and leaned down to kiss her. "Happy birthday, angel."  
She squeaked happily and stopped right there on the sidewalk, pulling him to her for another long, deep kiss. When she pulled away, she grinned up at him brightly. "You remembered," she said softly.

"Of course I did. You think I'd forget something like that?" He brushed his fingers over her cheekbone, smiling down at her. "Now come on, we've got to get home." He took her hand and started to pull her down the street, a quick smile his only response to her questioning look.

When they reached the loft, April was the first one to the door, and almost immediately after she stepped inside, Maureen pounced on her and hugged her around the neck. "Happy birthday, 'Ril!"

April blinked and hugged her back, looking around the room slowly. Streamers hung from the walls and ceiling, and on the windows, and a cake sat on the table, unlit candles already in it. She laughed softly, more startled than anything. "Maureen, you _didn't_…" Releasing Maureen, she looked to Mark, Benny and Tom, all three of them grinning at her reaction.

"We did," Mark said, obviously pleased at her reaction. "Maur thought you should have a real birthday party, and I helped her... You like it?"

"Oh, Mark, you didn't have to…" April said softly, and then trailed off, shook her head and stepped forward to hug him too. "Thank you."

He smiled brightly at her with that innocence only Mark could possess. "Anything for you, April Shower."

Maureen bounced to the table, beckoning April over. "Come on, let's light the candles so you can blow them out and then we can do the presents!"

April laughed and followed Maureen to the table with a grin. "Maureen, you are like a little kid sometimes."

"You've told me that a million times," Maureen said as she struck a match and started to light the candles. "Believe me, by now, I know."

Later that day, after the candles, presents and birthday wishes, April sat on her bed with Roger, quietly staring out the window with a bit of a smile on her face. Roger watched her for a second and asked softly, "What is it?"

She turned to face him. "What?"

"It's just… I haven't seen you smile like that for a long time."

April grinned and moved a little closer to him, leaning against his chest. "Everyone's been so… quiet these past few months. Since the car crash. Like we've all been walking on eggshells trying not to upset each other or something. Today we were all ourselves again. We _laughed_. We were a family again. I missed that."

Roger put his arms around April and smiled down at her. "I know. I did too." He kissed her forehead. "I'll try not to let us get like that again."

She shifted a little to look up at him. "You think you can help it?"

He shrugged. "I'm the reason everything started to get weird in the first place. I should be able to keep it from happening again, right?"

"You're not the reason," she protested. When he gave her a skeptical look, she amended, "You're not the _whole_ reason. Things just… happen."

"Yeah. Well. It won't happen again. I'm not going to lose them. Or you. Never you."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "You swear nothing's going to happen?"

"Promise." He frowned down at her. "Why're you so worried about it? I've lasted this long, haven't I?"

"I almost lost you," she said quietly as she looked up at him. "And it was right after Jessi… It scares me when everything starts to fall apart like that, all at once. I'm still scared."

"April-baby, look at me. I _swear_ I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

She nodded, and he pulled her closer and cradled her to him. April sighed and closed her eyes once more. For the moment, at least, for the first time in two months, she felt safe again.

* * *

Red. Those lines on her arms were bright red, and he could hardly bring himself to look away from them. April had fallen asleep without her sweatshirt on—some nights she even slept with it on, and when she didn't, she always waited until the lights were out to take it off, and somehow Roger had never noticed. When it started, the two of them had still been half at odds with each other, and by the time that was done with, it had become almost normal. He never saw… Hadn't noticed until tonight—this morning, actually, given that it had to be three, four, something like that—when he woke up, couldn't sleep… Something had drawn his eyes to her arms, pale in the streetlight through the windows, except for those cuts on her arms. No, just on one arm—must have been how she kept it from him for so long, only on one arm. On the other arm were the needle marks, track marks… And it _had_ to have been for a long time, because there were scars next to the newer and healing cuts. Some on her thighs too, maybe even more than on the arm…

Roger closed his eyes and turned away. His angel, broken, scarred… Tainted, too, thanks to him—by now she needed the drugs just as much as he did, though he had never intended that. Never intended to get her into _any_ of it, damn it. The drugs were his problem, he ought to be the only one affected… Then again, what he intended and what happened rarely turned out to be the same thing.

What was he going to say to her when she woke up? He couldn't just pretend that he hadn't _seen_ all of that, that it wasn't there… He was tempted to reach out and touch the cuts on her arm just to prove to himself that they were real, but he didn't. She might wake up, and he couldn't deal with that just yet.

Slowly, Roger got off the bed and walked to the door of their bedroom, out into the living room. He paused as he passed by Maureen on the futon, frowning at her to make sure she was asleep, and then went on to Collins' room, shoving aside one of the blankets and stepping inside. He was asleep, as would be any sane person at four in the morning… Roger sat down on the edge of his bed and shook him.

"Collins," he whispered. "Wake up." Collins muttered something not quite coherent and tried to shove him away, but Roger refused to move, just shaking him harder. "Wake up, man, I need to talk to you."

Finally, Collins rolled over and turned to glare at him, blinking sleepily. "Can't it wait? Until, I don't know, the sun is up?"

"No. It's important." Roger hesitated a moment. "It's about April."

Collins sat up with a soft groan, but he looked awake now, at least. "Alright, what about April?"

Roger couldn't meet Collins' eyes any longer, and instead looked down at the bed. "She's got… cuts all on one arm. And on her legs."

"Cuts?" Collins raised an eyebrow at him, obviously worried and just as obviously asking Roger to elaborate.

Roger shrugged. "Cuts. Like… I don't know. I just noticed it tonight, but there are scars from I don't know how long ago. She had to have done it herself."

For a while, Collins didn't say a word. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because… I don't know what to do. At all. I thought you'd be able to… do… something? Talk to her, maybe?"

Collins glanced towards April's bedroom, visible through a gap in the blankets, and sighed. "I'll talk to her later, once she's awake. See if I can do anything. I'm not promising anything, but I'll try."

"Thank you," Roger said slightly. Ordinarily it would have grated him to say thank you, but now… For this, he didn't mind so much.

Collins shook his head a little. "It's nothing. Go to sleep, Roger. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

Roger sat there for a second, unmoving, and then leaned over to hug Collins quickly before he stood up and started back towards his room. He couldn't help but think, though… Why couldn't he just talk to April himself? Maybe he just couldn't stand the hypocrisy.


	25. Covered with Scars

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Covered with Scars  
**"_Those who don't build must burn. It's as old as history and juvenile delinquents."—_Fahrenheit 451_, Ray Bradbury_

April walked out of her room to find that Roger was already gone, and Maureen hadn't even come home last night—God knew where _she_ was, probably with some guy or… something. Tom stood in the living room, though, behind the couch, and looked up at her immediately as she walked in.

"Tom," she asked, "have you seen my— What is it?" She frowned at him as she noticed the way he was watching her. It was one of those looks he'd been giving her lately, for the past few days… _Those_ looks. No way to explain them, really, but… not the way he usually looked at her. It was starting to unnerve her.

He sighed, but didn't say anything for a moment or two. Finally, he said, "April, I need to talk to you."

"Okay…" April had the feeling that this would take a while. She sat down on the couch, her legs tucked under her, and looked up at Tom. "About what?"

Tom walked around to the front of the couch and sat down beside her. "April… Can I see your arms?"

She stared at him for a second before pulling her arms closer to her chest, balling the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves in her hands. "Why?" she asked, though she knew full well _why_. The real question was how he knew, but she couldn't bring herself to ask that.

"April," he said simply. "I know. Show me your arms."

Right. Of course he knew. She sat there for a moment, staring at her hands, then sighed and extended her arms slowly, pushing up the sleeves on both arms. On one arm, a crisscrossed network of new and healing cuts and scars, and on the other, track marks. She couldn't bring herself to look up at Tom's face. Gently, he took her by the wrists and pulled her arms toward him a little so he could look at them more clearly. He just studied them for almost a minute, wordless, and finally looked up at her. She refused to meet his eyes.

"April Shower, look at me, okay?" Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to look at him. He still hadn't let go of her wrists. "You can't do this, honey. You can't do this to yourself."

She nodded silently, looked down, away from his face, unable to find any words.

"_Why_?" he asked quietly.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she didn't bother trying to get rid of them. The confusion and concern in Tom's voice… She just couldn't say anything to explain herself. "I don't know," she whispered, her voice little more than a whimper in the back of her throat.

He let go of her wrists and pulled her close to him in one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs only Tom could give. All resistance went out of her all at once, and she leaned in to him, shoulders shaking with tears she didn't even try to suppress. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Tom leaned back a little to look her in the face again. "You know I love Roger, April, and you know he's one of my best friends… but he's an idiot." She looked up at him sharply, but he went on before she could protest. "Don't look at me like that, you know it's true. As much as I'd like to, I can't control _him_, and nothing I can do is going to do any good with him, I don't think. But you're smarter than this. I know you are."

There was nothing April could say to answer and she just leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two, and at last Tom said, "I want you to give me your razors."

She pulled away from him, but he grabbed her shoulders before she could stand up. "_What_?"

Tom only watched her steadily, unwavering. "Your razors, April." He nodded to her arms. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. You're like my baby sister, sweetheart. If you don't think I'm going to protect you, even from yourself… well, you're wrong."

April pressed her lips together and met his eyes for a second or two, then sighed and pulled away from him, standing up and pulling her sweatshirt sleeves back down to cover the cuts and track marks. "Fine," she said quietly. "You can have them." But God, it hurt even just to say that. She wanted to handle this on her_ own_, damn it. Was she now going to give up all control over her life?

* * *

"Roger Davis, for once in your life could you act like a mature adult and—"

"April, I have more important things to do than… than stay home and wash the fucking dishes, damn it! I have to go and—"

April balled her hands into fists at her sides, digging her fingernails into her palms, in part to remind herself that she could _not_ just smack Roger, no matter how much she might like to. "This isn't about the dishes, Roger, and you know it. It isn't even about just today. Every time _anyone_ asks you to do something that you don't want to, that doesn't directly benefit you, you act like you're five years old or something, you selfish _bastard_! It's not even just me. Just like last year, when you backed out of Maureen's performance…"

"Don't bring me into this," Maureen snapped from the couch. April barely glanced over at her, well aware that Maureen was simply irritable because Benny had gone out on a date with that new girlfriend of his, Alison or whatever her name was, and probably wouldn't be home. She always got snappish when Benny was out on a date, and April didn't even want to know why. She turned her attention back to Roger, just as he started to stalk to the door.

She followed him a few steps, then stopped. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Roger didn't even bother to answer, simply slammed the door behind him. April stood there for a second or two before turning and beginning to walk to the bedroom. She stopped when Maureen said, "I can't believe you two can get into a fight over who's going to wash the dishes."

April sighed and realized abruptly that her hands were still in fists. She uncurled them slowly to see that her fingernails had dug gouges in her palms. They were bleeding. She studied the crescent-shaped marks for a second, and then lowered her hands. "You know we weren't fighting about that," she said softly.

"I told you he was a bastard a long time ago," Maureen muttered. "Before you started dating him. You really shouldn't be so upset _now_…"

"You know what, Maureen, shut up, just… shut up! I really don't give a damn what you think right now. If you say one more word, I swear…"

Maureen started to get up off the couch, glaring at April until Mark hurriedly jumped to his feet and interposed himself between the two. "Girls, please, chill! We really don't need you two getting in a fight on top of everything else, okay?"

Both of the girls still glared past Mark at each other. When April opened her mouth to snap at Maureen again, Collins walked up from behind her, took her by the arm and started to pull her away towards her room. April completely forgot what she'd meant to say as Tom said in a hushed tone, "April, I need to talk to you."

"This is none of your business, Tom," she said, but allowed him to pull her into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. When she frowned at him, Tom sighed and went on. "I can understand arguing with Roger, but picking a fight with Maureen? What're you thinking?"

April looked up at him, unable to keep the petulant expression from her face. "I don't know, maybe that she was butting in where she didn't belong. A lot like you are now…"

"I love you, April, but sarcasm doesn't suit you. I'm only asking because I care. And Maureen's your best friend. You can't fight with _her_."

"Why not?" she snapped. "She started it."

Tom rolled his eyes. "And now _you_ sound like the five-year-old. What's gotten into you, huh? This isn't my April Shower."

She pulled away from him and sat down on the bed, facing away from him. "And what would you know? Maybe I've never been your April Shower anyway."

He frowned, walking around the bed to sit down next to her. "April, what's the matter? I haven't seen you like this in… well… ever."

April ducked her head, muttering something inaudible. When Tom asked her to repeat herself, she looked up at him in annoyance. "It hurts."

"What does?"

"Everything. My arms burn, but… that's not it."

He studied her face. "Are you… You haven't been using, have you?" She shook her head, wordless. Tom immediately put an arm around her shoulders. "And Roger still is?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Asked him to get rid of it, but he's… been through withdrawal before. Doesn't think he can do it again."

"So that's what you two were…"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"So'm I."


	26. Nevers and Maybes

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Nevers and Maybes  
**_A witch's hat, a Wizard's showbiz display, a cleric's stole, a scholar's gown, a soldier's dress sartorials. A hundred ways to dodge the question: how will I live with myself now that I know what I know?—_Son of a Witch_, Gregory Maguire_

"Mark! Mark, Mark, Mark, wake up!"

"What the…" Mark woke up to find Maureen sitting on his bed, all but sitting on _him_, leaning down so her face was about an inch from his. He blinked in alarm. Not that Maureen's face wasn't a pleasant thing to wake up to, but he certainly hadn't been expecting it. Especially with her almost straddling his chest. "Um. Maur, could you… maybe get off me? And tell me why you're sitting on me in the first place? God, the sun's barely up."

"It's Christmas morning, Marky!" she said as she bounced off the bed. "Get up, get up! Come on!"

With a groan, Mark sat up. "You gonna do this every holiday?"

Benny sat on his own bed, grinning in amusement. "If it helps, she did the same thing to me."

Mark tried to hide the fact that his cheeks were flushed by preoccupying himself hunting through his dresser for a shirt and quickly pulling it on. "Did she _sit_ on you?"

"'Course I did," Maureen said with a bright smile, as if that were only to be expected. Mark blushed even brighter, not entirely comfortable with Maureen watching him the way she was with him only wearing a thin T-shirt and boxers.

"Right… so… uh… You gonna wake up the others too?" He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, and after a minute located his glasses on the bedside table and put them on.

Maureen walked to the doorway before turning to grin at him. "I'm going to go get Collins up—you get April and Roger."

"What?" Mark's voice squeaked a little as he said that. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "I mean… why me?"

The way she arched her eyebrow at him should not have been half as seductive as it was. "What, you think I'm going in there? What if they're not decent?"

"Maureen," Mark said slowly, as if talking to a small child, "you've seen Roger naked _before_, remember? If I remember correctly, the two of you stole my room for a week so you could—"

"Oh, like _you_ haven't seen him naked before. Don't even try to tell me… And just because I've seen it once doesn't mean I want to see it again."

Mark stared at her for a minute, then sighed. "Point taken. I'll go get them."

"Thank you, Marky-poo!" she caroled as she glided off to Collins' room.

He turned to Benny with a questioning look. "Marky-poo?"

Benny suppressed a laugh. "Well, I think it's a… charming nickname."

"Shut up," Mark said as he walked out of the bedroom, heading to Roger and April's room. Honestly… Marky-poo? What the hell had gotten into that woman? _Best not to ask, with Maureen,_ he decided.

He pushed open the door of Roger and April's room cautiously, leaning in and calling softly, "Roger? April? You two should probably wake up or Maureen might come sit on you too."

Neither of them moved at all, both of them remaining exactly where they were when he opened the door, curled up on the bed, Roger's arm thrown over April. Mark sighed and stepped into the room cautiously. "Roger, wake up, man. I'm not kidding about Maureen sitting on you. Or… well, since it's _you_ she might just hit you or something, but seriously. She wants you up, and if you don't—"

He stopped abruptly as he got close enough to see April clearly. She wore a sweatshirt, but only underwear besides that. Something drew his attention to her thighs—probably the cuts on her legs, vivid against her fair skin, straight and parallel and even… "Oh my God…" Mark whispered softly, staring open-mouthed at her. His baby sister, she… "Oh God."

"Mark!" Maureen called from the other room. "What are you _doing_? Hurry up and get them out here."

Mark jumped, finally able to look away from the cuts on April's legs. "I'm coming, Maureen!" He sighed, and said in a quieter voice, "Coming." He forced himself over to the bedside and shook Roger's shoulder. "Hey Rog, get up. It's Christmas." Even if it didn't really feel like it. Even if Mark could only think of those damn lines of red on his April Shower's legs.

* * *

April shivered as she stepped out of her room, silently cursing the lack of heat in the loft. Even in mid-May, it was still freezing in the morning. Or maybe she was just shivering because she needed a hit… hard to tell, lately. She'd given up on not using some months ago—too hard not to, with Roger using, and the drugs right there for her… Never mind how goddamn easy it was to get drugs of her own, how the dealers were never more than a block or two away if she cared to look. And Collins had stopped taking away her razors a while ago. Mistake. And the more she used, or cut, the more she thought of how disappointed Jessi would be… the more she needed to forget…

She wrapped her arms around herself and went to put a pot of coffee on. That would help with the cold, if the shivers were because she was cold. If not... maybe she still had some smack in her room. She couldn't remember, and as much as she was tempted to go see, she managed to keep from going back in the room to look.

The loft felt… empty. Benny, out for the night with Alison—or at least they had all assumed it was with Alison, though it very well could have been someone else… Collins, God knew where, and he just hadn't come _home_ last night at all. Roger still asleep in their bedroom, Mark presumably in his own bedroom, and Maureen… Where the hell was Maur?

April turned to look at the futon, suddenly realizing that Maureen wasn't there. And she hadn't gone out last night, so where the hell _was_ she?

The door to Mark's bedroom swung open abruptly, as if in answer to her question, and Maureen stepped out. April stared at her for a second as Maureen froze. "April, this isn't what you think…"

"Did you sleep with Mark?"

"…Or maybe it is." She closed the door behind her and quickly walked across the room to the kitchen. "It's not like I—God, it's cold in here."

"Oh, good," April muttered. "It's not just me, then."

"Huh?"

"Nothing." April jumped up on the counter, hugging herself tightly once more and trying to suppress her shivers. She watched Maureen for a minute, and finally said softly, "You slept with Mark."

"We've established that," Maureen answered calmly. "Will you stop looking at me like that?"

"Maureen, Mark's like… a brother."

"He's like _your_ brother," Maureen corrected. "Not mine. There's no rule saying I can't sleep with your brother."

"Oh _God_, I did _not_ need that image in my head, Maur! I really didn't. The image of you sleeping with Mark is bad enough, but… _God_. You have absolutely no shame, do you?"

Maureen smirked a little. "Shame is overrated, 'Ril. You ought to know that."

For a second or two, April frowned at her. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing at all," Maureen said innocently.

April sighed. "Why Mark? You could have gone out to a bar or something, got any random guy you wanted… You have to sleep with Mark?"

"Why not?" she asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Because you're going to hurt him," April snapped. "And I care about him. He's going to get attached, and then when you move on to the next guy, you're going to break his heart. I don't want you doing that to my little brother. I'm not gonna _let_ you hurt him."

Maureen laughed disbelievingly. "Are you _threatening_ me?"

"No. I just wanted to make my point clear."

"Which is…?"

"If you're upset about something, don't distract yourself with Mark. There are other ways."

The other woman raised an eyebrow at her. "Upset? About what? I'm not upset."

"Hell if I know," April said. "Maybe about the fact that Benny's spending so much time with that Alison girl, maybe something else, doesn't matter. What matters is that you're not dealing with it in the right way. You shouldn't hurt other people with your own issues, and I know you don't mean to, but—"

"Oh, and you're one to talk," Maureen said scornfully.

"What?"

Maureen's eyes flickered to April's arms, covered by her ever-present sweatshirt, but the way they lingered there made it clear that she knew exactly what was underneath the sleeves. "You deal with your problems your way, and I'll deal with them mine, okay? I don't need lectures, least of all from _you_. You don't seem to be handling your own problems that well yourself."

April couldn't come up with a response for some time, and finally remarked simply, "You know."

"Everyone knows, April," Maureen said with a slightly disgusted tone. "You think you're that good at keeping secrets, but… you're not. And you haven't worn short sleeves since fall. We notice. All of us notice."

April closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples, fighting off a rapidly developing headache. God, maybe she should see if she had any smack left in her room after all. This was all getting to be too much. "Damn it," she whispered to herself.

After a second, she looked up at Maureen and said quietly, "Try not to hurt Mark, please. I don't want to see him getting hurt, not even by you." She bit her lower lip. "Especially not by you."

Maureen watched her for a moment before nodding. "You think I'd _mean_ to hurt him? He's my friend too, 'Ril. I care about him as much as you do."

"If you say so," April murmured unable to meet her friend's eyes. It didn't matter that Maureen didn't mean to hurt him. She would, sooner or later, and poor Mark probably didn't have a clue. She wasn't sure she could make herself warn him.


	27. Will I Wake Tomorrow?

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Will I Wake Tomorrow…?  
**_Heaven and hell are within us, and all the gods are within us.—_The Power of Myth_, Joseph Campbell_

"Hey," April said distractedly to Maureen as she walked in the front door, just home from work—Roger hadn't walked her home. Again. She had stopped expecting it, really, given that he only tended to show up when he felt like it, which wasn't often. It took her a moment to realize that the loft was empty except for Maureen. April sat on the couch beside her friend. "Where are the boys?"

Maureen shrugged. "They went out. I think to that strip club down the block… don't remember what it's called."

April choked. "_What_? They went _where_?"

Maureen studied April's expression for a second, then grinned. "Oh, calm down, 'Ril. They're just being boys. That's how they _are_. They're not going to _do_ anything."

"That… still…" April sighed. "It doesn't bother you that Mark's there?"

"Mark? No, he doesn't worry me at all." She smirked. "Now if my boyfriend were _Roger_, then maybe I'd be a little concerned…"

"Maureen!"

"I'm just _kidding_. No need to panic. Collins is there to supervise them anyway. At least, I'd assume he's supervising them, since I can't really think of any other reason he'd go…"

"Oh, God, my head hurts," April murmured, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the couch.

"You really are a spaz, you know," Maureen commented, as if just now observing this.

"I am _not_. I'm just… Okay, Maureen, normal people get a little upset when their boyfriends are at _strip clubs_."

"You are too a spaz. Just like Mark. That's probably why the two of you are such good friends, actually…" She jumped off the couch abruptly and walked over to the fridge while April eyed her warily.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna keep your mind off it," Maureen answered, searching through the refrigerator. "We can play 'I Never' or something."

"Oh dear God no…"

"Why not, Aprilest? It'll be fun."

"Because…" April began, stopped herself, and sighed. "Because the last thing we need is you and alcohol in combination."

"You worry too much. Besides, we haven't played this game in forever."

"There's a reason for that," April said, but softly enough that Maureen didn't seem to hear her.

Maureen kept searching through the fridge for a minute before turning to look over her shoulder at April. "I swear there was a bottle of Absolut in here. Did you do anything with it?"

April just gave her a blank look for a second before replying, "Yeah, we drank the whole bottle while you weren't looking. No, I didn't do anything with it. Honestly… Someone probably hid it or something." She sighed. "Thank God for that…"

Maureen turned back to the fridge for a second and frowned, closed the fridge, then remarked, "I think it was Collins."

April grinned. "Collins is God?"

With a chuckle, Maureen nodded. "Yes. God is a gay, black anarchist who lives in our loft." She bent down to look under her futon, reaching underneath it for something—it was still supposedly where she slept, though lately she'd been spending more time in Mark's room, whenever Benny wasn't around.

"Now what are you looking for?"

Maureen pulled out a bag of M&M's triumphantly. "We can play with this, if we don't have any alcohol."

April could only blink at her for a second or two. "You were hiding candy under your bed?"

"Well, I didn't want to have to share it."

"There's the Maureen I know," April said with a laugh, and beckoned her over to the couch. "Who's gonna start?"

"I will." Maureen poured a few M&M's into her own hand, and then held out the bag to April. "I've never been to California."

April glared at her but popped a candy in her mouth. "Cheap shot. I grew up there. I could just as easily say I've never been to Hicksville."

"But you have. Two years ago we had Thanksgiving at my parent's house."

"Oh. Right." April stuck her tongue out at Maureen. "Still a cheap shot." She studied Maureen for a moment before saying, "I've never cheated on one of my boyfriends."

Maureen paused. "Does it count if—"

"It counts."

"What if—"

"It still counts. Take the candy, Maur."

"Fine. I've never hurt myself intentionally."

"That's another cheap shot."

"It's true, isn't it? Take the candy."

* * *

April glared at the phone across the apartment, unable to take her eyes off of it despite herself. She half-expected it to ring and… And what? Stupid. But she couldn't really help it. A year ago today, she'd got that phone call from Chris and found out that Jessi had died. God, had it really been a year? It didn't seem like it at all, like less, and at the same time an eternity.

_Time flies,_ she thought, unsure of where the thought had come from. She couldn't stay here. Not tonight. Had to get out, had to go, anywhere that wasn't _here_, anywhere that wouldn't keep her thinking of Jessi, of hours-long phone conversations and promises to visit some day. April had always promised she'd show her around the city… God, she _did_ have to get out of here.

She pushed herself off the couch and headed for the door. "I'm going for a walk," she announced.

"It'll be dark soon," Mark said worriedly, glancing to the window, but she didn't pay him any mind, just pulled the door shut behind her and hurried down the stairs two at a time, just desperate to get _away_ from there. She didn't even know where… or maybe she did and just didn't want to admit it to herself.

She wandered until she found herself in the park, a few blocks from home, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold though it was still the middle of summer, only July 5th… She still felt cold. Too damn cold.

"Hey babe, looking for me?"

April suppressed a scream and turned around quickly, not sure what she expected. The Man stood almost directly behind her, one eyebrow raised questioningly. "Holy shit, Dave, you scared me half to death!" she said, letting out a breath. "Don't you make _noise_ when you walk?"

He shrugged. "Didn't mean to scare you. So. You looking for me?"

April hesitated. She wanted to—God, she wanted to—but she just… _What would Jessi think?_ "I really shouldn't. I mean, I can't. I really…" She trailed off and sighed, and he was just _watching_ her, wordless. Shit. Her arms stung. Stick a needle in them, make it go away, everything seems better for a little while. Not _good_—lately nothing felt exactly right—but better. She fumbled through her pocket for some money and reluctantly handed it to him, slipping the bag of smack she got in return into her pocket.

"Tell your boyfriend he still owes me from last week," he said.

"Yeah." She turned away quickly, started to walk away from the Man. Talking to him always made her feel tainted, dirty, and that smack felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket, just begging her to use it. She kept one hand in her pocket as she walked, running her fingers along the edges of the bag distractedly.

"Hey, April!"

April glanced over her shoulder to see Roger jogging after her. She sighed and turned around to face him, quickly taking her hand out of her pocket and crossing her arms. "What? Did you seriously follow me here from home?"

"It's almost dark," he pointed out. "I wanted to make sure you'd be safe."

"Oh, please," she said. "That's not why you came. What, are you trying to babysit me now? Afraid I can't be left unsupervised?"

The harshness of her tone seemed to take him aback for a second, but then he responded almost challengingly, "Then what's in your pocket?"

"Oh, fuck off, Roger. Don't even try that. You got me into this _shit_ in the first place—"

"You asked for it!"

"Well you didn't have to give it to me! Fucking hypocrite… Like you don't use every chance you get. Like your arms don't have just as many track marks as mine. More, actually. Oh, and by the way, you owe Dave money from last week. So, you wanna scold me now? Go ahead." She fell silent for a moment, giving him the chance to defend himself, but he only stared at her blankly. Her mouth twisted into a mocking smile that didn't suit her. "Yeah, I thought so." She watched him a moment longer before turning away and walking off. This time he didn't follow.

* * *

_Jessi,  
__I need you now.  
__I love Roger. Of course I love Roger, he's… he's just him. But he's not… since the accident… his accident, not yours… he's been someone else. Not entirely, but I've been losing him more and more. I think I only just realized it a few days ago. But…  
__Shit, you'd be so disappointed in me. I promised I'd make you proud, but just look at me. And they know. They all know. There's no way to hide it from Roger, but Mark, Collins, Benny, Maur… The drugs and… other things…  
__I shouldn't be this unstable. I should be able to keep it together. But I guess you always were my sanity, my Jessi, my heart-sister, from the day we met. I lost you and… the world kind of fell apart after that.  
__(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

_Your sister, your (falling) star,  
__April_


	28. Orchestras on Sinking Ships

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Orchestras on Sinking Ships  
**_The stars go waltzing out in blue and red  
__And arbitrary blackness gallops in.—"Mad Girl's Love Song", Sylvia Plath_

"I can't believe you're actually going to MIT," Mark said quietly, staring down into his tea.

"I can't believe you're actually _going_," Benny added, giving Collins a pointed look across the table.

Collins sighed and looked up at the two of them. "It's not like I'm going _far_. You know I'll come back to visit."

"It's still not the same," Mark mumbled, not quite looking up at Collins. "You won't be _here_."

"Aww, is Marky gonna miss Collins?" Roger asked mockingly.

Mark glared at him. "Stop being an ass, Roger. Of course I'll miss him. You _won't_?"

"Well yeah, but I'm not gonna whine about it. It won't change anything. He's still leaving." Roger looked to Collins and smiled, lifting his beer in a gesture that could be considered a toast. "Congratulations on getting that job, by the way. Even if it does mean you have to leave."

"Thank you." Collins returned Roger's smile before glancing to the other two. "Come on, we're supposed to be having fun, remember? Last boy's night out before I have to go… We ought to be enjoying ourselves."

Benny watched him for a second, then smiled. "You're right. I'll yell at you for abandoning us later." He glanced over at Mark, sitting beside him, and elbowed him gently. "You sure you don't want to drink anything stronger than tea?"

Mark wrinkled his nose. "I'm fine, thanks."

Later, after they left the restaurant and started walking back to the loft, Collins hung back a little and gently took hold of Mark's arm to keep him back from the other two. Mark looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything until Collins explained what he wanted. "Mark… can you promise me something before I go?"

"Like… what?" Mark asked. Had it been one of the others asking, he would have been suspicious, but given that it was Collins… His motives were far less questionable than those of any of the others.

"When I'm gone, will you look after April for me?"

Mark looked up at him with a frown. "Well… yeah, I'll try, but I'm not sure I _can_…"

"Please Mark, April listens to you. And if anyone can take care of her, it's you. I just need to make sure someone's looking out for her. You know I worry about her."

"Yeah," Mark said softly. "We all do. I'll do my best, okay?"

Collins nodded and squeezed his shoulder briefly. "That's all I'm asking for."

* * *

_Hey April Shower. Going to miss you while I'm gone. Take care of yourself, and don't be afraid to talk to the others if you need to. They all care about you just as much as I do.  
__You're stronger than you think you are._

_Love,  
__Tom

* * *

_

April really hadn't felt like leaving the house today, had wanted nothing more than to just stay in bed because the world was just too much to face, but today, of all days, she couldn't. Any other of Roger's gigs she might have been able to skip, find some excuse to get out of it, but the night his band played at CBGB's? Not a chance. They'd all been dragged out, actually—Benny, Mark, Maureen and April, though the group still didn't feel complete with Collins not there. But nevertheless they were there, together.

It almost reminded April of the first time she'd seen Roger play. They were together like this then, as a group. She didn't remember him having quite so many harsh angles to his face back then. Nor had he seemed this closed off, this distant. But he'd look up at her every now and then, and his eyes would fix on only her… She could remember, then, what he'd been like two years ago. Beautiful, talented, perfectly sure of himself. He still was now, but somehow darker. Harsher. Not quite the same.

She closed her eyes and had to look away from him after that. She'd seen it in him when they first met, she remembered. That edge. Dangerous, a fallen angel… It made him sexy as hell, true, but she should have known. Too little, too late.

"I should have loved a thunderbird instead," she murmured under her breath, daring to look back up at the stage only when Roger wasn't watching her, so she wouldn't have to risk meeting his eyes.

Sitting next to her, Mark must have heard, and frowned. "What?"

"Oh, it's… nothing," she said softly. "Quoting poetry, is all. Lines just… pop into my head. 'I close my eyes and all the world drops dead.' Mad Girl's Love Song. Sylvia Plath. It fits."

He watched her for a second before answering. "You're not mad, April."

She didn't even look at him, eyes riveted on Roger as she murmured, "Sometimes I think I must be."


	29. Now or Neverland

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Now or Neverland  
**_To be an adult is to be alone.—Jean Rostand_

"Benny, if you don't get that dog out of here," Roger said warningly, "I swear I will kill it."

"You will not," Benny said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, what am I supposed to do with it if I don't keep it here?"

"I don't know, give it to Muffy—"

"_Alison_!"

"Whatever."

Benny glowered at Roger for a second, his jaw tight. "The dog's a Christmas present, Roger. I can't just give it to her _now_."

April sat on the couch with the puppy on her lap, playing with the fluffy little dog and trying her best to ignore the boys, although to tell the truth she was the only one not yet thoroughly annoyed by the Akita puppy. Not that she really blamed them for being irritated by the thing—it _was_ high strung, and seemingly never stopped that high-pitched yapping, but still… "She's just a puppy, Roger. And she's only going to be here for a day or two more before Benny gives her to Alison. You can put up with her for that long."

Maureen eyed the puppy almost resentfully and muttered, "We don't want to put up with it. We want the thing gone."

With a sigh, April looked to her friend. "You people are not very friendly to animals," she commented.

"It's not an animal," Mark corrected. "It's demon-spawn. It's small, hyperactive and annoying, and it's demon-spawn. Like my sister's children."

April suppressed a laugh as best she could, and bit her lip to keep back a smile. At last, she gave in and grinned at him, shaking her head slightly. "She is not… Okay, she's hyperactive and a little annoying, but she's not _demon-spawn_. She's a puppy, Mark."

"An extremely irritating puppy."

"Alright, maybe a little. We can all put up with her for another day, can't we?"

Mark considered for a moment. "As long as you keep it out of my room."

"Why?"

He gave her a look as if she'd lost her mind. "I don't know, maybe because it's made a mess on the floor at least three times since Benny brought it in?"

"Oh, well… you've got a point." April scratched behind the puppy's ears. "Anyway, she's almost asleep now. Then we can just let it sleep and ignore it, okay?"

Benny sighed and sat down beside April, giving her a bit of a smile. He reached over and petted the puppy for a moment before pulling his hand back. April watched him for several seconds before asking with a bit of a smile, "Benny, why'd you get her a puppy if you don't _like_ dogs?"

"It's not that I have anything against dogs," he muttered, "this one in particular's just a little irritating. If I'd known at the time, I wouldn't have got one. But… Ali's a dog person, so I thought…"

April laughed softly. "Brilliant, Benny. Just brilliant."

"Hey!" he protested. "I thought the puppy was a nice Christmas present."

"Of course," she said with a grin. "I'm sure she'll love it. Every little girl wants a puppy for Christmas, after all…"

"_Thank_ you," Benny said, doubtless just glad to hear someone agree with him after everyone else had clearly announced their displeasure about having the animal in the loft.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Do you really have to encourage him, April? It'll only make him even more unbearable than he already is."

She snorted and gave him one of her "are you kidding me?" looks. "And this is coming from you?" She wasn't sure where the rancor had come from, but Roger's attitude was getting on her nerves.

His response did not help in the least, as he sat down on the coffee table, facing her, and muttered, "Well you're supposed to agree with me. I'm your boyfriend."

She stared at him for a second in silence, and then stood up, handing the puppy over to Benny as she did. "No, Roger, I'm _not_ supposed to agree with you. Because I'm not your lapdog, alright?"

April stalked to the bedroom, and Roger started to get up to follow her. "April, wait, I really didn't mean—"

"I don't care what you meant, Roger," she said, turning around in the doorway. "I really don't. But you're getting on my last nerve. You can sleep on the couch tonight." She slammed the bedroom door closed hard enough to make the living room echo for a second or two with the sound of it.

The others sat there in silence, Roger staring at the closed door, the others awkwardly uncertain what to do. At last, Roger said softly, "She didn't even give me a chance to apologize. I did not deserve that."

Mark glanced at him. "I'm sorry, man, but… you kind of did."

"Shut up."

* * *

"God, what was he thinking, having a wedding in January? It's _freezing_ outside," April said softly as she stood in front of the mirror in her room, checking her hair one last time before she went out. Freezing or not, she was still going to go—it was Benny, after all. Below-freezing temperatures certainly weren't going to stop him from going to his wedding. Anyway, it probably wasn't that much warmer inside the loft than it was outside, with the heat out—again, like it was every winter without fail.

At last, she stepped out of her room and looked for Maureen. The boys had already gone to the church, expecting the girls to follow behind, but… Maureen lay on her back on her futon, staring at the ceiling, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, _not_ the dress she was supposed to have worn…

"You're not going," April said immediately. She didn't even have to ask—the determined, upset look on Maureen's face was all she needed to see.

"No, I'm not," Maureen said without even turning to look at April. "He's _abandoning_ us to marry that _whore_. Do you think I'm going to their wedding?"

April bit her lip to keep from protesting that Alison certainly wasn't a whore, because with Maureen it was a useless argument. She sighed and walked over to the futon, sitting on the edge and frowning down at Maureen. "Okay, I know you don't like Alison, but can you at least go for Benny? He wants you there. You're his _friend_. And they're expecting you. Tom even came back for the wedding—don't you want to see him? Come on, just get dressed and let's go, _please_ Maur?"

"I can see Collins later," Maureen said stubbornly. "I'm not going."

April sat there for a moment before sighing and standing up. "Fine. What am I supposed to tell Benny when you don't show up?"

"Tell him whatever the fuck you want," Maureen said softly, rolling over on her side so that she was facing away from April. "I don't care."

"Great," April muttered under her breath, and started for the door, silently running through the options of what she _could_ tell Benny. None of them seemed particularly attractive.

* * *

By the time April, Mark and Roger got back home from the wedding, it was late, and Maureen gone, disappeared to God knew where. April was certain she didn't even _want_ to know. April flopped down on the couch, leaning her head against the back of it and closing her eyes. When Roger sat down beside her, she leaned against him without opening her eyes, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She felt Mark sit down on the other side of her, and the three of them sat there in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. The entire loft just felt so… empty. It wasn't unusual for there to only be three people home at once, but it seemed to April at least as if she could almost _feel_ the absence of Tom and Benny, now that they'd moved out. Her little family was shrinking, and faster than she would like to admit.

"So," April said at last, opening her eyes and lifting her head a little to look at the other two, "it's just us and Maur now, isn't it?"

Mark paused for a moment, thoughtful, and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

April simply sat there before answering, her eyes unfocused as she thought over that. Just the four of them now. No Collins to look after her like an older brother, to keep the razors from her when she really needed him to (no matter how she'd hate him for it at the time), to tell her she _could_ get through this and everything else. No Benny to joke with her, to give her that perfect, charming smile that made the world seem a little brighter, just for a second, to point out when Roger was being an ass, not with resentment or some ulterior motive like Maureen did, but simply standing by April no matter what. How could this really be _home_ without them?

"Damn," she whispered at last, and dropped her head against Roger's shoulder again, closing her eyes and pressing close to Roger. It was as much of a response as she could manage at the moment.


	30. You and You and Nothing but You

**Chapter Thirty: You and You and Nothing but You  
**_Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings.—Ed Gardner_

April waited until she and Roger were alone in the loft to corner him, figuring it would be easier to persuade him without Mark and Maureen around to make amused comments. Roger sat on the table with his guitar, not _really_ playing anything, just picking out random melodies and altering them from time to time. April sat on the table beside him, her legs dangling over the edge. "Hey Roger?"

He stopped playing for a moment and looked up at her. "What?"

"I have a question to ask."

That immediately worried him, she could tell. He frowned and set his guitar aside, and she had to fight not to giggle at his concerned expression. "Okay…"

She didn't say anything for a moment, just watching him as he gradually looked more and more worried over what she was going to ask, and finally she grinned and said, "Will you come to the opera with me?"

The worried expression on his face immediately altered to one of complete and utter confusion. "What?"

"The opera. _La Boheme_. It's playing nearby, and I… I want to see it. And I want you to come with me."

Roger stared blankly at her for a few seconds, and then laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I really want you to go." April took his hand and laced her fingers through his, looking up into his face. "Please?"

"April… tickets cost money. We can't afford that."

She grinned. "I've got some money my parents sent me for my birthday. Been waiting for something to use it for."

"But we need food. And there's the phone bill and the—"

"Birthday money is not for food and bills," April said, still grinning at him. When Roger started acting responsible, she knew she was winning.

"April?"

"Besides," she said with a smirk, "I already bought the tickets."

"_What_?" he asked, looking alarmed. She thought she'd heard him actually squeak. "April!"

April tried to hide her smile, but couldn't quite manage it. "Oh, stop. I just figured it'd be easier to get you to come if I bought the tickets first." She kissed him quickly, and gave up trying to hide her smile, breaking into a grin once more.

"You… are manipulative," he said after a moment.

"I know. Only because I love you."

"April, that made no sense."

She laughed softly. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"Right. An opera. Fun. Does it occur to you that it's really not my kind of place?"

"Yes, it had occurred to me. But then I decided I didn't care. Stop complaining and take it like a man."

He looked down at her, trying not to smile himself, and then said with a soft chuckle, "You are pure evil. When is this opera thing?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Oh joy," he said with more than a touch of irony, though still smiling.

"Alright, mister, that's enough of your sarcasm," she muttered, slipping her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss him much more thoroughly than last time. "You ought to use your tongue for something more interesting."

He leaned back a little to smirk at her. "Like what?"

"You know very well wha—" She squeaked as he pulled her closer to him to kiss her, and gave up speaking altogether.

* * *

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" April looked up at Roger as the two walked home after _La Boheme_, his arm around her shoulders— with winter not quite over, it was still cold out, and her breath misted a little in front of her face as she spoke.

"Well…"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop being difficult. Admit it, you liked it."

"Alright, maybe a little. It wasn't absolutely terrible. Some of the music was tolerable." He thought for a moment. "I bet I could play some of it on my guitar, if I tried…"

"That's the best I'm going to get out of you, isn't it?"

"Very probably, yes."

April sighed in mock exasperation. "Do you know you're a pain in the ass?"

He grinned. "Oh, absolutely. It's one of my charms."

"I ought to smack you, you know," she said, lightly pulling away from him and turning to walk backwards in front of him so that she could face him as she walked. She kept her arms wrapped around herself, though, trying to conserve some body heat before she froze.

"Oh, but that would ruin my fun," he said with an expression of disappointment that made her smile despite herself. After a moment, he frowned at her a little. "You're shivering. Come here, you're going to freeze."

"I will not freeze," she said stubbornly, though she didn't really mean it. She _was_ shivering, but only a little, and it certainly wouldn't kill her. "You worry too much."

Roger rolled his eyes and started to pull off his coat. "Seriously, April… At least take my coat. Please?"

She glanced over her shoulder and considered for a moment. She could see Tompkins Square Park less than a block away, and she didn't feel like just walking calmly the rest of the way home. Too much pent-up energy—she wanted to run. April looked back to Roger, a mischievous grin on her face. "You want me to take the coat, you'll have to catch me first."

Roger stopped, his coat half-off, and frowned at her. "I'll have to what?"

"Catch me." That was all the warning she gave before she turned and ran towards the park, grinning as she heard Roger curse softly under his breath and, after a moment, come running after her.

"April, what the hell are you—April, stop, you're going to—" He gave up trying to call after her after a moment and saved his breath for running.

She still reached the park first, ducking behind a tree when she did. After a moment or two, Roger reached the park too, his steps slowing. He must have lost track of her, the way he was glancing around as if searching for her. April grinned and pounced out at him as he passed by her. He fell to his knees on the grass, April on top of him, and when he rolled over to look up at her she smiled down at him. "You know, it's kind of sad that a girl just outrun you."

Roger blinked up at her for a second. "Are you _nuts_? God, April, you ran right across the street. You could've gotten hit by a car. Or run into someone who could've hurt you, or…"

"Aww, baby, were you worried about me?" she said, unable to keep from laughing.

"Yes, I was worried about you! You are… absolutely…"

"Amazing is the word you're looking for."

He grinned. "While it applies, I _think_ I was looking for another word. Like, maybe, insane."

"Oh, well, that too." Still lying on his chest, she kissed his nose, giggling at the bemused look in his eyes.

After a moment, he asked, "Will you at least take my coat now? You said I would if I caught you. And you're still shivering."

"Technically," she said, "I caught you. But if you really want me to take your coat, I will." She rolled off of him and sat up, letting him drape his coat around her shoulders. "You know, you're really overprotective sometimes. Almost mothering."

"I am not!" he protested, but she just smiled at him.

"No, it's okay. I think it's sweet, actually."

"Oh. Well… thank you?"

"Yes, that was a compliment," she said, and leaned against him, craning her neck back so that she could see the sky. Too hard to see the stars, with the city lights, but that was to be expected. After a moment, she looked back down at Roger and grinned. "I love you, you know."

He smirked a little and kissed her. "I know." When she giggled and shoved him away from her playfully, he laughed softly and pulled her back towards him. "I love you too, April."

"Well then," she said, leaning into him once more. "You're forgiven."

"Forgiven? For what?"

"For being so damn cocky," she said. "Even if it is really sexy."

"Of course I'm sexy. I'm a rock star."

She shook her head, smiling. "You just can't stop the arrogance for one minute, can you?"

"Well, I probably could if I tried, but I don't see a reason to do that. Especially since you like it, whether you'll admit it or not." He pulled her onto his lap gently and wrapped his arms around her, and she didn't pull away, closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest. Neither of them said anything for a while, until Roger said suddenly, "Marry me."

She pulled away from him slightly—not off his lap, but enough that she could look up into his face—and blinked at him. "You're joking."

"No. I'm serious. Marry me."

April laughed, a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, and smiled up at Roger. "Baby, you haven't thought about this at all, have you? I mean, we can't—"

"Why not? I mean, no, I don't have a ring or anything, but… I love you, April. You know I do. I don't ever want to be without you. So… please? Marry me?"

She stared at him for a few seconds longer, then said softly, "You are such a romantic, do you know that? You wouldn't let any of the others know, but… you _are_."

He frowned at her, a little concerned. "So… is that a yes, or…?"

April smiled and rested her forehead against Roger's chest, whispering, "Yes, Roger. That's a yes."


	31. Your Own Bloodcells Betray

**Chapter Thirty-One: Your Own Bloodcells Betray  
**_Do not go gentle into that good night.  
__Rage, rage against the dying of the light.—Dylan Thomas_

April shuffled through the mail as she walked up the stairs to the loft, most of it unimportant. Some bills—just her luck—along with a package for Mark from his mother, like she tended to send him every other month, and… Underneath, another couple of letters for herself and Roger, from the clinic where they'd got their blood tests. Collins had talked them into it, when he'd been visiting for Benny and Alison's wedding, said that especially if they weren't going to stop using they should at least check to make sure that they were healthy. April had finally got around to actually getting the test two weeks ago, and she'd all but dragged Roger with her. She shoved open the door to the loft, stepped inside and pushed the door closed before walking across the room to toss most of the mail on the table, keeping only the letters from the clinic. She kicked off her shoes at the door and left them there, shedding her thin jacket as well as she walked to the couch.

April opened her letter first, opening the envelope neatly and sliding out the paper as she walked over to the couch. She unfolded the paper and glanced over it quickly—and then froze, suddenly unable to breathe. Her knees went weak, and she dropped onto the couch, unable to stand up any longer. Underneath the bold HIV heading, a single word screamed at her: _positive_.

_No,_ she thought, suddenly dizzy, her pulse pounding in her ears. _No, no, no, no, no…_

April ripped open Roger's envelope, almost tearing the letter inside in her hurry to get it out. She pulled out the paper, and flinched. "Oh God," she whispered, and dropped the papers as if burned by them. How long had it been? How long since they'd gotten sick? God, it could have been ages, and… and…

She simply couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that she and Roger were sick. Like Tom, but Tom… Tom was stronger, Tom could handle it, but she couldn't, she knew. The scars and track marks on her arms told her that clearly enough, that she couldn't even deal with life, let alone the promise of death held in those test results.

Suddenly angry, she kicked out with one leg and hit edge of the coffee table, hard enough to flip it over. It hit the floor with a loud crash, and she sat there for a moment, breathing hard, shaking, her entire body just… shaking. It didn't help anything. April stood up and roughly shoved over the end table, watching as it fell to the floor, the phone sliding across the floor as it hit the ground. But she wanted to hit something real, some_one_, not an inanimate object. She wanted to curl up in a corner and cry or… something, but that wouldn't help anything. Not that overturning furniture would either, but at least it gave her an outlet of sorts.

No longer really thinking, she paced through the loft, lashing out at anything and everything without discrimination. Stacks of Roger's papers that had been on the table, scraps of songs and random sketches, went on the floor, scattering as they fell. A box of film overturned, silverware dumped out of the drawers, some dishes that had been in the sink smashed. She avoided her bedroom—her needles were there, the smack, the razors, everything—and Mark's—he had nothing to do with this. Instead, she went to the bathroom, caught sight of herself in the mirror and stopped, staring at her reflection in silence.

She hadn't realized, before, what the drugs had done to her—she'd seen it in Roger, yes, but never in herself. Her face looked thinner than ever before, with harsh angles that hadn't been there a year ago. Jessica probably wouldn't even recognize her at first glance now, and that was without the tears that had made an absolute mess of her face, tracking down her cheeks and leaving behind smears of ruined makeup. April could only look at her reflection for a minute before slamming the heel of her palm against the mirror several times until it shattered. She backed against the opposite wall and slid to the floor among the broken glass, sobbing brokenly.

It took her a while to notice that she was bleeding—she must have cut her hand in breaking the mirror, or maybe when she sat down she'd put her hand on a shard of glass. It didn't matter. Her tears mingled with the blood, watered it down, and the merged blood and tears ran down her arm to her elbow, running over scars on the way. Gradually, she stopped crying for the most part until her breathing was only occasionally punctuated by sobs, but other than that, she felt… numb. Empty.

April lifted her hand to stare at the blood welling from the cut, focused on that alone with no emotion in her eyes. She would have almost expected something to look different, now that she knew, but no, it was the same vibrant red. Odd, how that blood carried the virus that could—probably would—kill her, but it looked like the most alive part of her. Bright, bright red, running from her palm down her arm…

How long before the virus killed her? How could she tell her parents, Chris, how would she explain it to them? And her sisters? God, how was the going to tell Roger? That they were both sick? And what if… What if, what if, what if? Too much to think about, too much to deal with.

"I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't, I can't, I…" April trailed off, focusing once more on the blood on her hand. Wouldn't take much to escape, just a quick cut or two, not much more than she'd done before, just… deeper. She stood up slowly and walked to the bathtub, starting to fill the tub after first checking that the water was warm. She ignored the part of her that suggested maybe she should stop and think about this, call Tom, Mark, Benny, anyone. Too late, now that the thought had occurred to her, that she _knew_ her escape, nothing but for her to carry through.

April walked out of the bedroom, ignoring the glass from the mirror as it cut into her feet, almost past the point of caring. She went to the bedroom and grabbed one of her notebooks, noticing only vaguely that it was the notebook Mark had given her at Christmas her first year in the loft. She ripped out three sheets of paper and quickly scrawled notes on all three. The first, she folded and tucked in Roger's guitar case, where he would find it eventually, but not immediately. The second she also folded and walked into Mark's room, locating his coat and putting the note carefully in the pocket. It might take him a while to find it, but he would… That would have to do.

The last note she kept with her as she walked to the kitchen, the paper held between two fingers and tucked against her palm—in the hand that wasn't cut, so she wouldn't get blood on the paper, though why she cared at this point, she didn't know. After all, she was tracking blood on the floor with every step… Lucky the floor was uncarpeted, so the others should be able to clean it up without too much trouble. One of the few things she hadn't overturned or upset in the kitchen was the knife block—that still sat on the counter beside the sink, undisturbed. She remembered when Tom had hidden the knives and everything else sharp in the loft, over a year ago now, when he was so worried she might do something stupid… There wasn't anyone to hide things from her now.

She drew one of the thinner blades out of the block and tested it against her thumb. A drop of blood welled up, and she nodded in grim satisfaction. Sharp enough to cut without too much trouble, so long as she didn't hesitate. She walked back into the bathroom, closed and locked the door behind her, and carefully set her last note on the sink counter, among the shards of mirror glass that had fallen there. That done, April turned off the water in the bathtub and slid into the water with her clothes still on. It was hotter than she'd thought it would be, but never mind. That might make things easier, actually.

April lowered both arms into the water, the knife still in hand, and pressed the tip of the blade to her wrist, right where she could see the blue veins just beneath the surface. A second's hesitation, and then with a jerk she cut down, hard as she could. She drew a shocked breath—it hurt far more than any other cut had ever stung before, but it didn't really surprise her except for that initial gasp. Nothing she couldn't handle for the moment, until she bled enough that it wouldn't matter.

She switched the knife to the other hand, her jaw clenched tight against the pain, and cut down once more.


	32. No Need to Endure Anymore

**Chapter Thirty-Two: No Need to Endure Anymore  
**_Time stands still while time runs away.—Jonathan Larson in notes for "Right Brain" in _RENT

_Roger,  
__God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't tell you to your face, I'm sorry I'm a fucking coward, I'm sorry I was never strong enough to handle you, us…  
__I'm sorry I can't wait to die.  
__I can't do this. I always loved you. I always will. Never forget that. But I just can not do this. It'll be a while before you find this, but when you do… don't hate me, baby?_

_Love,  
__Your Angel_

_

* * *

Mark,  
__Don't you dare blame yourself. I know Collins asked you to take care of me when he left… You're really bad at keeping that sort of thing a secret, in case you didn't know. But there was no way you could protect me from this. You're the best little brother I could've had._

_Love,  
__Your April Shower_

…_Also? Please keep an eye out for Roger. I know I'm such a hypocrite for asking this, but… He needs someone to be there for him, when he finds out that he's  
__When he finds out.

* * *

__Baby,  
__We've got AIDS._


	33. How'd I Let You Slip Away?

**Chapter Thirty-Three: How'd I Let You Slip Away?  
**_Death lies on her, like an untimely frost on the sweetest flower of all the field.—Shakespeare_

Maureen tugged impatiently on Mark's arm, half-dragging him towards the stairs up to the loft. "Come on, Mark, you've been filming _all day_! You can give up a few shots and come upstairs now. I'm _bored_."

Roger rolled his eyes. "You might as well give up, Maureen. He's probably going to be here filming for another two hours."

With a sigh, Mark shifted his camera to the other hand and turned to face Maureen, lowering his camera a little. "I will not," he said, giving Roger an annoyed look. "I just want to… I'll only be down here for a few minutes. You two go on up, and if I don't follow you in five minutes you can come and drag me up."

"That's the best we're going to get," Roger said as he took hold of Maureen's arm, pulling her towards the stairs with him. "Come on, April's probably home."

Maureen pulled her arm away from Roger, but she did go up to the loft with him, hurrying up the stairs a few steps ahead of him. She reached the door first, pulled it open, and froze completely. "Oh my God…" she whispered, stunned as she took in the absolute chaos of the loft. It looked like a tornado had come through, papers and film and everything else overturned, strewn about…

"What is it?" Roger caught up with her in a second, stared at the loft for an instant, and then roughly shouldered past Maureen, immediately going into the bedroom. "April? April, are you home?" Evidently he couldn't find her in their own bedroom, because in a second he stepped out and went to Mark and Maureen's room. "April!"

Maureen still stood in the doorway, silent and still until she noticed the pattern of blood drops on the floor, evenly spaced, like footsteps. They led out of the bathroom, to the bedrooms, the kitchen, back to the bathroom. Suddenly chilled, she walked across the loft to the bathroom door and tried the knob. Locked, and not a sound from within. She stepped back from the door, cold dread in the pit of her stomach. "Roger! The bathroom door's locked!"

"What?" Roger asked, stepping out of the bedroom. He looked frightened now—between the state of the loft and not being able to find April, real worry, real _fear_ had begun to sink in.

"The… the bathroom door, it's…" Maureen gestured to the door helplessly, realizing for the first time that she could see under the door that the light inside the bathroom was on. Roger tried the door and swore when it wouldn't open.

"Get Mark," he snapped at her, eyeing the door. When she hesitated, Roger turned to glare at her, his voice sharp as he ordered, "_Get Mark_!" He slammed his shoulder against the door, silently thankful for once that the doors in the loft _weren't_ all that sturdily built, and the bathroom door shuddered under the force.

Maureen ran to the window and out onto the fire escape, leaning over the edge so she could see Mark. "Mark! _Mark_!" He looked up at her with a start, his confused frown visible even from several stories up. "Get up here now, it's April, she's… Just get up here!" Behind her, she heard Roger finally break open the bathroom door, and turned away from the fire escape, rushing inside to the bathroom.

By the time she got there, Roger was already inside, and Maureen could only stand in the doorway, taking in the scene in bits and pieces. April in the tub in her clothes, the water red—not clear, or even some shade of watered-down pink, but _red_. Roger by the side of the tub, awkwardly half-cradling April and sobbing, whispering to her so softly that Maureen couldn't really hear any actual words, just her name repeated over and over, April, April, April… The knife in the soap dish, still with blood on it. The shattered mirror in pieces on the floor, sink, toilet, everywhere, some shards with April's blood on them. A piece of paper on the sink, April's handwriting visible on it, that Maureen didn't dare to pick up and read.

Mark burst through the still-open door of the loft, breathing hard. He must have taken the stairs at a dead run. He dropped his camera on the couch as he passed it, for once not taking the slightest care to see that it wasn't damaged. He had heard the panic in Maureen's voice, knew that something had to have happened… As he reached the bathroom door where Maureen stood, he found out, and stood there in absolute shock for a second before Maureen turned to him, buried her face in his shoulder and just started sobbing. Automatically, he put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him as he backed out of the room a few steps to pick the phone up off the floor. As he heard the dial tone, he let out a breath of relief that the phone was still working and numbly dialed 911, though he had the sick feeling that calling the hospital wouldn't do any good.

While the phone rang, Mark held Maureen close to him with his free arm and tried to ignore Roger's voice in the other room, rising and becoming more frantic as the truth became harder and harder to deny, "April, April-baby, please wake up, please, angel…"

* * *

Mark grimaced as he scrubbed at yet another bloodstain on the kitchen floor, forcing his mind away from the fact that it was April's blood. What was he going to do without her? His sister, his April Shower. Without her, the loft seemed a little emptier, a little darker, as if she'd taken with her some special glow of her own, something he hadn't noticed until she'd gone. Silly, not to have noticed something like that.

The bathroom was clean now, amazingly so. Still hadn't replaced the mirror, and Mark wasn't particularly inclined to any time soon, but the blood was gone. No one ever would have believed what it looked like four days ago, when Roger had found her there in the tub… Everything was white now. Pure white, spotless, immaculate. Too much so. It had never been that clean before. Before they had to get rid of every trace of what she'd done to herself. But even with the blood gone, Mark still couldn't go in there, not without seeing the streaks of red everywhere, almost hearing the glass from the mirror crunching under his feet. And that damn note on the sink, written on paper from the notebook he had given her (a detail only Mark had noticed, it seemed), just four words—_Baby, we've got AIDS._ Hell of a way to break it to Roger.

Roger still hadn't come out of his room, just locked himself in there once the body was gone, once there was no denying that April was really _gone_. Mark wasn't sure whether he'd come out at all since then—maybe in the middle of the night, to get some food, but he couldn't be sure. No one was ever in the living room to notice anymore, that time of night, with Maureen sleeping in Mark's bed every night now, the futon that was once hers now abandoned. The two of them needed the comfort of someone next to them at night, these past few days. As for Roger… Mark didn't even want to guess what he was doing in his room. It could be nothing, but then again… He knew that his drugs had to be in there too, and April's, and… Mark didn't even bother to hope.

Mark sighed and scrubbed harder at the bloody spot on the floor. It wasn't going away. He should have known, he should have done something. He'd known Roger and April were getting blood tests, at Collins' insistence, but he'd never guessed… Should have been there when she got the results. He could have protected her. He should have been able to. He'd promised Collins, and… failed. The hardest phone call he'd ever made was calling Collins the night after… that… and telling him about April. He'd hardly been able to get out a coherent word for half an hour, and Collins ended up comforting _him_ though the news had to have broken him just as much as Mark.

A tear slid down Mark's cheek and landed on the floor beside his hand. He blinked at it for a second and drew a breath, starting to fight back the tears the way he had been for the last several days. He hadn't _let_ himself cry, not when he had to keep Roger and Maureen both stable and sane, when he had to be the strong one for once. Collins had offered to come back to the loft, but Mark refused, told him he couldn't leave his job at MIT. It was true, but it meant that Mark hadn't been able to cry at all for his April Shower. But with the first tear came every other one he had held back, in a rush too sudden to fight off, and in a minute or two Mark found himself sitting on the kitchen floor with his back pressed against one of the cabinets, his knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

"Damn it, April," he whispered through tears. "_Damn you_. How could you do this to us, to Roger? How could you leave?"

If she were here, she'd have been in tears too, he knew, apologizing, promising to never, never do it again, asking him to forgive her, putting her arms around him and crying with him… But this wasn't the sort of thing in which you got second chances.


	34. Music Box Melody

**A/N:** And this would be the last chapter—we're done! And if you've made it through this, then you've earned my appreciation and gratitude. So thank you to those of you who've read and reviewed, because I really do appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Music Box Melody  
**_Granted a second life, you must find more meaning in it than you could ever determine in your first.—_Mirror Mirror, _Gregory Maguire_

The funeral was on April 1st. April Fool's Day. No one noticed that little detail until after they'd scheduled it. It was quiet, small. Mrs. Cornwell and Chris had flown out for the funeral. Both of them refused to speak to Roger, which was just as well, because Roger wasn't about to speak to them or anyone else. He'd hardly even spoken to Mark since the day April killed herself.

Roger didn't say a word through the funeral, just sat there, staring straight ahead. He couldn't cry, not knowing that he'd fall apart if he did, and so he just listened, dry-eyed and aching inside, in uncomfortable clothes and longing for a hit, even now. Mark sat beside him, giving him nervous, worried looks every now and then, and Maureen on Mark's other side, leaning against his shoulder and crying, but quietly. Benny sat a few rows back—Roger didn't turn to look, but he thought Benny might have been crying too. Collins hadn't been able to make it, and Roger couldn't feel enough to care.

After the service, April's mother and Chris started to leave quietly, and Mark stood up as if about to follow them, but then seemed to remember Roger and glanced to him as if he would feel guilty leaving him alone. "I'm gonna go talk to the Cornwells, before they leave. Will you be alright?"

Ordinarily, Roger would have responded with a biting comment, but he couldn't summon the energy for it now. "I'll be fine," he said quietly. "Go ahead."

Mark hesitated a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to say something more, but then simply sighed and walked to the back of the church, Maureen at his side.

Roger sat there for a moment or two before he got to his feet and went to the coffin at the front of the church. Closed, which Roger was thankful for. He wouldn't have been able to look at her now, if it had been open. It wouldn't be his April, alive, warm, _real_… Just a shadow. Besides, he doubted they'd have been able to completely hide the gashes on her arms, too deep, too permanent.

He brushed his fingers over the smooth wood of the coffin, unaware that the church had fallen silent as the others watched him standing there, Mrs. Cornwell and April's brother resentfully, Mark, Maureen and Benny with what might be concern. Roger didn't notice, simply stood there, one hand on the coffin. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, coming up here. Maybe to say something where the others wouldn't hear him, to apologize to her, but… not a single word came to mind now. Anyway, she wouldn't hear. Too late for apologies now.

He could only stand there for a moment more before turning away, walking back to the pews and sitting down heavily. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go _home_, because even if home had a million memories of April, at least there was something of her there. This place, this wasn't _her_. She wasn't here. But… something about the empty feeling in his chest and the ache in his throat told him he'd lost her a long time ago.

* * *

"Mark."

Roger's voice cracked a little as he called Mark into his room—his own voice sounded foreign to his ears. Small wonder, when he hadn't spoken more than two words in the past week, but it still caught him off guard. He fought down his surprise as Mark opened the bedroom door and stuck his head into the room almost cautiously. "Huh?"

Roger reached under his bed and pulled out a bag of smack, a couple needles, and tossed them so that they landed at the foot of the bed. He didn't want to touch them any more than necessary at the moment. It almost scared him, what he might do if he did have to touch them. He nodded to them, meeting Mark's eyes. "Take them. I don't care where you put it, whether you throw it out or whatever, but just take it."

Mark walked across the room to the bed and picked up the smack and needles hesitantly, eyeing them as if they might bite him. He winced and looked up at Roger again. "Are you sure you want me to—"

"Just _take_ them, damn it! Get them out of here!" Roger turned away from him, no longer able to meet his eyes, and muttered under his breath, not quite to Mark, "Before I change my mind."

Mark stood there a moment longer, faltering, then nodded and walked out of the room. Roger sighed in relief, and for a while just sat there, staring at nothing. _It's good that it's gone,_ he told himself silently. _It is. You won't be tempted to…_ He paused, thoughtfully, and admitted to himself, _To find a way to forget about her._

That was what he was afraid of, wasn't it? Aside from the fact that he was dying, at least. That he might try to lose himself in the drugs and just forget her face. It might be easier. It might not hurt as much. But he didn't want to lose her.

Her. He didn't even want to think her name anymore.

"April," he murmured under his breath. He wasn't going to allow himself to lose the memory of her, the sound of her name… "My April." Except that she'd left, and this time he could drive as far as he wanted, he'd never get her back.

He growled under his breath and climbed off the bed, walking across the room to where his guitar case rested, untouched for… longer than he cared to think about. Months, even before April had… before everything had gone to hell. He opened the guitar case slowly, and as he did, a small piece of paper slipped out. Thick, creamy white lined paper, torn out of a notebook. Just like the note April had left on the sink. Roger winced and picked it up, against his better judgment.

The words seemed to blur in front of his eyes, but somehow he managed to read it.

…_don't hate me, baby?_ _Love, Your Angel._

For a minute, two, he just sat there and stared at it, his hand shaking a little. He had to close his eyes, remember to breathe… Five minutes earlier. Maybe just three, or two… If he'd just got home a little earlier, he could have… done something. He'd be holding her, not sitting here on the floor of his bedroom, holding nothing but a letter. Too many mistakes, and how had he not seen them coming?

He sighed and pulled his guitar out of his case, carefully tucking the letter back into the case where April had put it. Better to leave it there, where he'd know where to find it if he wanted, and otherwise… it was at least out of sight. He walked to the bed with his guitar and sat down cross-legged, just staring at the strings for a moment. He'd had a purpose when he first went to get the guitar, but now he couldn't quite remember it. He struck a chord, and winced at the dissonant sound that emerged. Right. The damn guitar hated to tune. He sighed and spent a couple minutes adjusting it until it sounded close to right—he couldn't summon the energy to make sure it was perfect.

The first thing that came to his mind were older songs, things he had written for April, or with April in mind.

_"The stars are beacons of heaven and maybe one day you'll go up for a ride…"_

The song he'd given her on the tape that first Christmas. Before she'd really been his, before he'd tainted his angel… And another song followed that, the one he'd played for her just before they kissed, only a month after Christmas…

_"Angel wandered too far from grace but saved the sinners in song…"_

Saved him from himself, from the goddamn drugs he'd lost himself in, but she couldn't save herself, could she? Too far from grace indeed. She'd been perfect when they first met, flawless, innocent… He'd broken her, tarnished her, his now-fallen angel. He couldn't let himself think about that, not now, not when the memories of putting her in the ground stood out so much in his mind. That, and the too vivid image of bright blood in the bathtub, on the floor, everywhere. He still couldn't go in there without seeing the blood on everything, couldn't bring himself to believe that it was really clean. He turned his mind away from that as forcefully as he could.

The guitar strings had fallen silent, and he stared at them again. All of the old songs had some association with her, some tie—his own songs, someone else's, it didn't matter. Too many ties to her. He needed to think of something else, anything new, something he'd never played before, at least around her.

He needed a song to make all of this worthwhile, before the virus killed him, before he followed his angel… willingly or not. Something to leave behind.

He tried to play something, anything, conjure some melody from the air. It sounded wrong, oddly familiar, painful… _Can't make something out of nothing,_ he told himself grimly. He knew he should shove the thought away. Maybe it hadn't been true before, but now… It sounded as true as anything. He attempted another tune, once or twice more, then set the guitar aside on the bed with a disgusted sigh.

The only thing that would come out was a broken, faltering version of Musetta's Waltz.


End file.
